Second Chances
by sienna27
Summary: Universe D: Story 1 of 1 - Spin off of "Falling in Love with a Girl" - Hotch and Emily sleep together the night he gets his divorce papers. Birth control fails and they get pregnant.
1. I Met a Man

**Author's Note**: Finally, it goes up! Universe D. Alternate ending of chapter 34 of _Falling in Love with a Girl_. In this version of their lives Hotch signs the divorce papers _before_ he gets to the bar and he does end up having sex with Emily in the bathroom. I have combined chapters 33 & 34 from _Girl _because those are all the same night Hotch gets served his papers.

**HUGE HONKING WARNING!** **This is an M Story**!

There's sex here and it's not vaguely referred to, it's fairly explicit, sometimes _rather_ explicit. And if that's going to bother you, or make you uncomfortable, please DON'T read this story. It might not be for you.

Thanks to my regular beta Arc :) AND my special guest beta Kavi. I needed some extra assistance from someone who had written M sex scenes before to make sure those bits worked. Kavi stepped up like a trooper :)

**If you're just discovering this story, first go read chapters 1-32 of "Falling in Love with a Girl."** This story picks up events immediately after Chapter 32 in that story. It's also a post ep for Birthright.

* * *

_Episode – Birthright_

**As I Was Going to St. Ives**

"What is it?"

Hotch took a breath and with a pained expression turned to answer Emily.

"Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

Emily stood stunned for a moment as Hotch walked off. Then she turned to Dave, who looked as upset as she felt. She gave him a questioning look and he nodded his approval so Emily hurried out the glass doors.

She caught up with Hotch at the elevator.

"Hotch wait."

Mortified that that had just happened at the office . . . in front of EVERYONE(!) . . . Hotch didn't even look over as he snapped back at Emily.

"What do you _want_ Prentiss?!"

Christ! Two minutes! He just wanted TWO minutes to himself! Was that so much to ask?!

Emily stopped short . . . crap, maybe she should have waited.

"I um," she stammered, "just wanted to make sure that you were okay. But uh . . ."

And she trailed off, not quite sure how to finish that sentence. She was going to say, _'but uh, I'll talk to you later.'_ But she figured he probably didn't want to discuss it later either.

Though in the alternative she could have said, '_but uh, it's obvious you're in a bad mood,'_ but that would have sounded incredibly bitchy. Of COURSE he was in a bad mood! He just got served with divorce papers, in front of his entire team! Anybody would be would have been embarrassed, but especially somebody as private as he was.

All she wanted was for him to know that he could talk to her if he wanted . . . she just wasn't quite sure how to express it.

After blowing out an exasperated huff of hot air, Hotch turned to face Emily. He was ready to tell her to just go back to the office and he'd see her in the morning.

But then he stopped, and really looked at her. Though he'd snapped at her, she didn't look hurt or angry. She just looked . . . worried.

And he started to feel like an asshole.

She was just worried about him, and he was being a jerk because he was upset. But she didn't deserve to have his anger at Haley taken out on her. His gaze dropped as he closed his eyes.

Why did he keep making such a mess of things? She'd been so good to him the last few weeks. Helping him get through the holidays.

There was no excuse for his behavior.

When he looked back up, he swallowed hard before continuing in a softer tone.

"Prentiss, thank you for your concern, but I'm okay."

It was a lie but he figured she was too polite to call him on it.

Knowing that Hotch was trying, Emily gave him a sad smile. She knew that he was hurting and after what had just happened, the poor guy deserved to retain a bit of dignity.

"Okay," her voice was soft, "I just wanted to make sure. And," she cleared her throat, "to let you know if you, uh, need anything that you know that we're here," catching his gaze she gave him a pointed look, "_I'm_ here."

Though she doubted that he'd accept the offer, she wanted to say it anyway. The last thing somebody needed in a situation like this was to think that they were all alone.

And that was one thing that Hotch was not.

Hotch's teeth sunk into his lip as his expression softened slightly.

It was kind of amazing. She just kept trying with him even when he was throwing off every signal in the world that he only wanted to be left alone. Generally the rest of the team gave him a wide berth then, but she never had. She'd always said her peace before walking away.

Or sometimes . . . he thought back to the fall . . . not walking away.

When Garcia had been shot, he'd gone off to get some time by himself, but she'd stumbled across him a few minutes later. And she came right over and sat down. And it had only taken a second for him to be glad that she had, and then two minutes later she'd put her head on his shoulder and he'd been thanking God for sending her to him.

Suddenly Hotch felt a pang of guilt.

He should be nicer to her. Not that he was mean, ordinarily they got along very well, but still . . . he should be nicer. That should be his default position. Because she deserved at least the same level of kindness back, that she consistently showed to him. He shouldn't let his personal situation make him think it was okay to bark at her.

It wasn't.

And only an asshole would think that it was. She'd done nothing to deserve it. Hotch dropped his eyes to the ground then and took a small breath. And when he looked back up, he made sure to give her a little smile.

"Thank you Prentiss. I'll keep that in mind."

Relieved that it seemed she'd broken through that wall of his . . . these days it took less swings of the sledge hammer to do it . . . Emily's eyes crinkled slightly as she nodded back.

"Good."

They stared at each other for a moment and then the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

The moment was broken.

And Emily watched Hotch turn to step onto the car, and she was wondering if what she was thinking was a good idea. Oh, what the hell.

It couldn't hurt.

So just as the doors were about to close, she put her hand over the sensor and they bounced back.

"Hotch, I know that you're having a bad night and you probably want to be alone, but why don't you come out with us anyway?" She gave him a sympathetic smile. "It would be good to have a distraction, you know, get your mind off things."

Hotch slowly shook his head as he tucked the divorce packet more securely under his arm.

"I don't think I'd be very good company Prentiss."

Emily quirked her lip up.

"Well no offense Hotch," she responded gently, "but you aren't exactly the life of the party on your best day."

At that, his eyes crinkled faintly.

"Well be that as it may Agent Prentiss, all the same I think I'm going to take a pass."

"Okay," Emily nodded as she pulled her hand back, "I understand. But if you change your mind we'll be at O'Leary's." Then she stepped back and watched the doors slam shut.

For a moment Emily stared at her reflection in the shiny metal. Then she shook her head and went back to collect the others.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/

Just in case Hotch changed his mind and decided to come out and meet them, Emily had been keeping one eye on the door since the team had arrived at the bar.

She'd been doing that for the past hour.

Unfortunately it was getting pretty crowded in there, and she was afraid that if he did come . . . and he couldn't locate them right away . . . that he'd turn right around and back walk out the door. Because getting Hotch out for a beer was like coaxing a turtle out of its shell.

If you scared him off then there'd be six more weeks of winter.

Wait . . . Emily furrowed her brow . . . what? No, that wasn't right. That was groundhogs. So what the hell was the turtle saying? She cocked her head.

_Was_ there a turtle saying? It seemed like there was one for every other animal so if there wasn't, the turtle was kind of getting short changed. Her lips pursed then in confusion.

How the hell did she get off on this tangent?

Then she shook her head . . . didn't matter. The _point_ was, that if Hotch came out she wanted to make sure that she caught him. But in an effort to distract herself from 'Hotch Watch 08' (the worrying was kind of stressing her out) she decided to turn half an ear back to the speakers . . . Nickelback was singing about Someday . . . and half an ear into the Warner Brothers versus Hanna-Barbera debate raging between Reid and Garcia at the other end of the table.

Apparently Huckleberry Hound was a classic Gothic figure while Foghorn Leghorn perpetuated the worst of southern stereotypes.

But unfortunately neither the music . . . nor the arguments about racial equality in animated caricatures . . . could really capture her full attention. So her mind began to wander back towards Hotch's situation.

Even though she knew that it really wasn't any of her business at all, the whole situation still seriously irked her.

How could his wife just TAKE his son away from him? Didn't she realize that his work alone was sufficient punishment for any transgressions, real or imagined, that he could have committed over the past five lifetimes?! And Emily wanted to hate Haley for doing that to him . . . hell if Hotch wanted it, she'd hate her just out of loyalty!

But . . . her teeth dug into her lip . . . she was pretty sure that he didn't want that.

What he wanted was to work things out. And even if he didn't know about it, Emily was pretty sure that he wouldn't approve of her shooting metaphorical daggers at his wife.

Also though, Emily had met the woman . . . she was nice. And that night at the bar, they had seemed happy.

That was barely a year ago.

And as much as it pained her to admit it, Emily knew that she wasn't in a position to judge Haley. But she had to wonder what could have happened to change all that.

It must have been something major to walk away from a man like Aaron Hotchner.

Though Emily knew that he was grumpy and stubborn . . . and opinionated, and at times a completely humorless pain in the ass, but that was just surface stuff. He was also kind and sensitive, and he had a really good heart.

He was a good man.

And Emily wasn't sure if Haley understood just how hard it was to FIND a good man. With a huff to herself, Emily took a swig of her beer.

Hell, she'd been looking for one the past twenty plus years, and she _still_ hadn't found one worth keeping more than six months. And this crazy chick is tossing them out like Kleenex!

Realizing that she was going off on another tangent, Emily gave an internal eye roll.

_Enough Prentiss! Mind your business._

And with that she shifted her attention back to the entryway. Movement had caught her eyes . . . the door was starting to open . . . and then a second later she saw Hotch step into the bar.

Oh good . . . her eyes crinkled as she hurriedly stood up and began waving like an idiot . . . he came!

*/*/*/*

Hotch paused just inside the door of the bar.

Though he'd gotten this far, suddenly he wasn't so sure that meeting the team was a good idea.

After he'd left the office, he'd gone for a drive to the Wal-Mart down the street. He'd wanted to be able to have some privacy for his upcoming battle royale with his wife. So then for the next half hour he'd paced back and forth by his jeep. Spending half of that time yelling into his cell phone at Haley, and then the other half of it listening to her yell back at him.

He just couldn't get beyond the fact that she'd had him served at the office.

Was she _trying_ to humiliate him?!

And when he'd asked her that question flat out, she'd come back with a "well, where the hell else was I supposed to find you, Aaron!? You still don't have an apartment and process servers don't deliver to the hotel concierge!"

He'd gotten so pissed off at that.

Though he didn't want the damn divorce, if he'd known that she filing, then he sure as hell would have gone and _picked_ _up_ the damn papers! But she hadn't even told him that they were coming!

She'd just AMBUSHED him!

So they went back and forth, slicing and cutting at each other . . . and then Haley suddenly lost all her steam. She said she didn't want to fight about it anymore. She didn't want to fight about anything anymore.

And then she'd hung up.

Hotch knew then that his marriage, his family . . . his life, it really was slipping away from him.

The possibility of reconciliation suddenly seemed very dim.

Hotch had listened to the buzzing in his ear, and that was the point when he'd known . . . when he finally _accepted_ . . . that it was over. His marriage, his family . . . his life, it had all slipped away. And they'd slipped away a long time ago.

It was his hope that was the last thing to die.

He'd carefully slipped his phone back into his pocket before he opened the car door and pulled a pen down from the visor. Then he picked up the papers from the passenger seat, and all alone . . . in spot number 136 of the Wal-Mart parking lot . . . he leaned on the hood of his jeep, signed his name . . . and dissolved his marriage.

And after that realization . . . one he'd been fighting for months . . . all he'd wanted was a damn drink. Except he was actually staying in a hotel. And stopping at the liquor store to buy a six pack to take back and drink alone in a hotel room, just seemed pathetic.

Incredibly so.

But then he remembered Emily's offer to meet them later. Though he really didn't feel like being sociable, he knew that at least drinking in a group was better than being a _complete_ loser, and drinking alone.

Plus he knew that if he went to the hotel he'd just wallow.

The bar would be a distraction, but now that he'd arrived, he was having second thoughts. Maybe he should just go back to the office and try to work. That's how he'd spent the majority of the separation.

Elbow deep in case files.

And he was about to turn and go when he spotted Emily waving at him.

Okay . . . he sucked in a breath . . . well, now he had to go in for at least a few minutes. It would be rude to walk out now.

Also, he was pretty sure that she'd run after him.

So he slowly made his way around the throngs gathered for happy hour and bar trivia, to arrive at the team's crowded table in the corner of the bar.

Given the number of empty glasses and bottles, he figured that they were just finishing their second round. And they did all seem (genuinely) pleased to see him, so he started thinking that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to get out for one night.

It was something to do.

Morgan snatched another chair from the group next to them, and Hotch pulled it up beside Emily at the very end of their cobbled together rectangle of smaller tables. Hotch slipped off his suit jacket, taking a second to fold it over the chair back before he sat down.

Though she tried not to be obvious, Emily was eying Hotch with concern.

She was worried about him, but she was pleased to see that at least he'd realized it would be good for him to be around other people. He'd looked so hurt earlier when those damn papers had arrived, that she hated the idea of him being off by himself. And she so badly wanted to give him a hug now . . . and she could get away with it, she'd slipped in a few hugs with him over the holidays . . . but she knew how embarrassed he would be if she did that in front of the team.

And he'd had enough embarrassment for one day.

So instead of offering him the comfort that would make _her_ feel better, she tipped her head towards him as she murmured softly.

"It's nice to see you."

In response to Emily's comment, Hotch's gaze fell as he awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Well, I figured one beer wouldn't hurt."

The words were barely out of his mouth, when the waitress suddenly placed a Guinness down on the table in front of him. Hotch raised a perplexed eyebrow as he looked down at the coffee colored liquid.

"Whose beer is this?" He asked in confusion.

After she picked up her own pint, Emily used it to gesture to his.

"Yours," she answered, "the waitress was walking by just when you came in, so I ordered it for you."

She hoped he only wanted a beer. What was the preferred drink in situation like this? Most likely hard liquor. But it was only Thursday, and he had to work tomorrow, so hard alcohol probably wasn't a good idea anyway.

Though as she eyed the expression on his face . . . regardless of the 'etiquette' of the situation . . . he seemed pleased with her pick.

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he picked up the beer.

"Thanks Prentiss."

Sometimes she really was very thoughtful. And God knew that he'd been craving a Guinness for the past hour.

Emily's lip quirked up.

"No problem."

And then she traced her fingers in the condensation of her glass while watching the man chug a third of his beer in five seconds flat.

When he put it back down, Hotch gave her a grateful nod . . . she bumped his shoulder in acknowledgment.

But Emily knew that he wasn't in the mood to talk, so she didn't even try to make social chitchat. Dave was sitting on Hotch's other side and fortunately he also seemed satisfied to leave him alone.

They just sat and listened to the others.

Reid and Garcia were still debating cartoons, but now JJ and Morgan had gotten into the mix. The new topic was Jetsons versus Flintstones, which was really the eternal 'caveman versus astronaut' debate, and everybody knew that astronauts won. Brain always beat brawn.

But that didn't stop Garcia from making her impassioned pitch for Fred Flintstone.

As they sat there . . . listening to this ridiculous, though amusing, conversation . . . out of the corner of her eye, Emily noticed that Hotch would occasionally turn up his lip at one of their more outrageous remarks. But it was clear to her that he was depressed, and she just wished that there was something that she could think to do to cheer him up.

But she didn't suppose that this was really a situation where you _could_ cheer someone up.

You might be able to keep them busy, but the harsh reality of the situation was not going to change just because you broke out some balloon animals and started acting out a puppet show.

She rolled her eyes.

Where the _hell_ were these bizarre non sequiturs coming from?! Then she looked down at the table. Oh that's right . . . the two glasses of Sam on an empty stomach. Her brow furrowed in contemplation as she considered the consequences of continuing to drink on an empty stomach.

Hmm, maybe she should eat something.

She turned to Hotch with a little frown.

"Are you hungry? Because I think I need to eat something soon or I'm going to get a headache."

Hotch's brow knitted together as he looked down at his empty glass.

He drained it in less than ten minutes.

If he kept up this pace, he'd be on the floor within an hour. So with a nod, he looked back up at Emily.

"Yeah I should probably eat too."

The last 'meal' he'd had was a granola bar. That was about nine hours ago.

Emily leaned forward to ask the table about food. The group decided to add two plates of nachos and some chicken fingers to their next round. And taking point for the table, JJ put her arm up to flag down the waitress.

Just after she put in their order, the pretty blonde started squealing and bouncing in her seat.

"Oh yay, The Fray! I LOVE this song!"

When JJ had a couple of drinks in her she was almost as flirty as Garcia. And she really wanted to dance right then . . . and unfortunately Will was a few hundred miles away . . . so she fluttered her eyelashes across the table at Morgan.

He was always an easy sell.

And of course . . . as expected . . . he grinned and put out his hand.

"Come on little girl, let's go."

Garcia's eyes lit up when she realized that a new activity that had just been put on the agenda.

"Hey," she yelled out, "I want to dance too!"

With a swivel of her head she realized that her options were limited to mom, dad, big sis and baby bro.

No contest.

"Come on Bam Bam," she shot Reid a look, "let's boogey."

Reid tried to protest, but Garcia wasn't having any of it. She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, pulling him out of his chair as she bellowed.

"I SAID, let's boogey!"

Hotch's head immediately dropped to his chest. He was making a concerted effort to hide his smile. Whereas Emily and Rossi made no such effort. They laughed openly at Reid's clear panic as Garcia dragged him away.

After the others left, there was a slightly awkward silence. And then Emily cleared her throat and scraped back her chair.

"I'm going to run to the bathroom."

She quickly stood up and slipped back into the crowd. She started to go one way, but then turned, deciding to head over to the restrooms up by the bar itself instead. They were off a narrow halloway . . . and they were farther away than where she was sitting . . . but they were generally less crowded than the other bathrooms down back.

But really . . . she tried to push away her faint bit of embarrassment . . . it didn't matter. She just wanted to get away from the table.

As he watched Emily disappear into the far passage, Hotch was suddenly startled by Rossi's gravely voice.

"You should have asked her to dance."

Hotch turned to his left and gave Dave a blank stare.

"What?"

With a faint eye roll, Dave took a sip of his beer and then put it back on the table.

"Emily. You should have asked her if she wanted to dance. She was the only one left at the table, and she was embarrassed."

At Dave's accusation, Hotch looked over incredulously.

"Then why didn't YOU ask her to dance?!"

Rossi bit back a dramatic sigh as he began to peel the label off his bottle of beer.

"I didn't ask her to dance because _I_ wasn't the one that she's been keeping an eye on the door for for the last hour. And _I'm_ not the reason we had to come to this bar even though Morgan and Garcia wanted to go somewhere else."

As Hotch wrinkled his brow in confusion, Rossi bit his lip.

God, how could someone so smart be so dumb.

Dave put down his bottle, and leaned forward to pat Hotch's arm.

"She's worried about you Aaron . . ." he started slowly, "we all are. And I know that you're having a shitty time right now, and I've been there and I know that it's hard to see beyond that. But . . ." he bit his lip, "Emily's going out of her way to try and help you. She insisted that we come here because this is where she told you that we'd be. And she watched the door so she could catch you in case you walked in and then decided to cut and run."

Hotch felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that's exactly what he'd been planning on doing.

Seeing that his words were making an impression on his old friend, Dave looked down and ran his finger around the rim of his bottle.

"All I'm saying is just cut her some slack Aaron . . . she's a good kid."

Though Dave wasn't sure what had made Emily decide to make Hotch's mental health a pet project, he was grateful that she'd taken the interest. Because one thing that Hotch was short on, was emotional support. He was too private, too guarded, and he didn't make friends easily. He'd been like that even when he was younger too. And it wasn't the job.

It was just something in him.

But he already trusted Emily with his life. So maybe . . . given enough time . . . he could start trusting her with some other things as well. Because Dave knew, as much as Hotch wanted to work things out with Haley, most likely his marriage was already beyond repair. And when that reality finally hit him, it wasn't going to be pretty.

It would nice if there was somebody around to help pick up the pieces.

Of course Dave would do what he could, but it wasn't the same as having a woman looking after him.

Especially a woman like Emily Prentiss.

Hotch stared at Dave for a moment before his gaze fell down to the coaster in front of him.

He didn't realize that she'd actually changed their plans for him. Or that she'd been watching the door to make sure she caught him. He had decided earlier to be more cognizant of how he treated her, and here it was two hours later and he'd already fumbled the ball. In his defense though, it would not have occurred to him that she'd go out of her way like that for him. Though why not, he didn't know. She was always doing things for the others.

Emily had a kind heart, so it shouldn't come as a surprise that she'd make an effort for him as well.

Which meant that he should make one for her too.

With this new revelation, he snapped his head back up and began scanning the crowd, trying to see if she was on her way back to the table yet. When he squinted he could see that she was just coming into view in the little hall.

Then she stopped.

He frowned . . . why was she stopped? And why did she have that look on her face?

Hotch's gaze shifted over to follow where she'd turned her head . . . and he saw him just as he grabbed her.

FUCK!

He leapt up, ignoring Rossi's, "what's wrong?" as he started pushing his way through the crowd.

Momentarily concerned at Hotch's sudden departure, Rossi watched his friend rush off. But then . . . spotting Emily's profile . . . Dave relaxed, figuring that Hotch had seen her as well and was going to talk to her after all. So Dave nodded to himself as he went back to his drink.

That was a good sign.

Hotch broke through the crowd congregating around the bar and hurried into the relative quiet . . . and privacy . . . of the side hallway.

Emily was grimacing in pain as she rubbed her arm.

For a second he stared at her, his fingers curling into tight fists. Seeing her hurt had tapped into a fury that he hadn't had to struggle against in a while. Then he took a step closer and one of his arms came up.

His fingers unclenched so that he could brush the tips over her hand. Then she turned it over so that he could see . . . finger marks. His gaze traveled along her skin.

And scratches.

She was bleeding.

A wave of fury swept through him as he sucked in a breath . . . motherfucker!

Jaw twisting, and teeth grinding, Hotch's eyes snapped back up to Emily's face.

"Are you all right?" He asked tightly.

She nodded.

"Yeah," then her eyes flicked to the floor as she added pitilessly, "but he's not."

His eyes snapped over to the asshole who had just assaulted her. The asshole that was now doubled over in pain after what Hotch assumed was a shot to the solar plexus by Emily.

He should have known she could take care of it herself. Of course just because she'd already taken care of it, didn't mean that the matter was closed.

Not by a long shot.

He looked back to Emily.

"You want to press charges?"

That would determine his next steps here. How many marks he was planning on leaving on this man.

"No," Emily shook her head as she stepped back and leaned wearily against the wall, "no, I'm done with him."

As Hotch worked his jaw, Emily noticed a look in his eyes that she had never seen before. Her gaze drifted over to the dick who'd decided to cop a feel when she walked out of the bathroom.

You . . . her lip quirked up humorlessly . . . are a dead man.

Hotch reached over and grabbed the man's wrist, bending it back until the guy was down on one knee, gasping in pain. As his face came into view Hotch could see that Emily had taken out his nose as well.

It looked like it was broken.

Good.

And Hotch was thinking that if his temper stayed running as hot as it was now, that might not be the end of the broken bones that evening.

He leaned down.

"What the FUCK did you think you were doing?" He hissed, "you're lucky that she isn't bringing you up on assault charges."

When there was no response to what he said, Hotch kicked the guy's other leg out from under him, knocking him flat to the ground. That resulted in a yelp of pain that Hotch ignored completely. Instead opting to jam his knee into the guy's neck.

"So here's what's going to happen," he continued with murderous calm, "in a moment you will leave this bar, and if you have a brain in your head, you will not come back here again. But before that happens, you will apologize to the lady, and if you don't," he twisted the wrist a little harder, "I snap your wrist or . . ." he ground his knee, "I break your neck. Your choice."

With his teeth gritted in agony, the guy on the ground turned his head so he could see the other man's face. And what he saw scared the shit out of him.

This guy was serious. He really was about to break a bone.

OH FUCK!

He started sniveling immediately.

"Uh, uh, I'm really sorry lady, I didn't mean to uh . . ."

Suddenly his words were replaced with a harsh gasp . . . his wrist had just been cranked another notch.

"NO!" Hotch ground out with a lethal fury, "clearly you DID mean to, or else she wouldn't have been _injured_! And she wouldn't have had to break your, your . . ."

And he stopped short, thinking about the fact that Emily actually had to _BREAK _this asshole's nose just to safely traverse ten feet down an empty hallway.

No woman should ever be put in that position.

As that thought slammed into him, Hotch's temper . . . which had been fraying for months . . . finally snapped.

He pulled back the pressure on the perp's neck, knowing full well that the asshole would buck and try to roll away.

Which is exactly what he did.

And that's when Hotch yanked his arm back . . . officially to regain control . . . unofficially to hear that satisfying crack when the bone snapped in two.

The guy yelped like a wounded animal. Then . . . when Hotch let him go . . . he rolled into a fetal position and started whimpering on the dirty floor. And Hotch stood over that pathetic mass feeling absolutely nothing. Nothing but rage.

Not even a shred of remorse.

This fucker had grabbed one of _his_ people, you don't do that and get away with just a bloody nose!

But he had no patience to listen to the crying either . . . it was likely to result in a stomp to the face . . . so Hotch crouched down and growled.

"Now get the _fuck_ out of here."

For a moment the guy seemed frozen in terror. Then he swallowed hard . . . and holding his limp hand against his chest . . . scrambled to his feet, and ran towards the exit.

He slammed into two men as he tried to make his way out.

One of them gave him another shove which knocked him to his knees. But he was back up and running before Hotch had even blinked.

Still, Hotch made sure the door fell shut before he turned to look back at Emily.

She was still holding her forearm stiffly against her body.

"Let me see," he whispered.

And when she slowly extended her arm . . . wincing slightly in the process . . . Hotch gently probed the bones checking for any swelling or misalignment. Then he furrowed his brow.

It seemed okay aside from the bruising and the scratches.

Finally he looked up to her face.

He was concerned at what he was going to see . . . if there would be judgment. He hadn't lost his temper like that in a long time. And the last time it was not in front of anyone whose opinion mattered to him.

And Emily's opinion mattered to him very much.

And at present she was staring at him without any expression at all, which really did not make him feel any better. For a moment he felt a stab of fear that he had lost her respect.

And that was something that he couldn't afford to lose.

But then her lip quirked up, and her mouth curved in a cold smile.

"I could have used you two weeks ago. I broke two fingernails putting a guy's head into a wall."

Oddly enough, nothing about that statement surprised Hotch. He was just relieved that she wasn't angry. Because most women . . . hell most people . . . would have been pretty upset about what he'd just done.

Even more so because he clearly wasn't sorry about it.

But he had learned long ago that Emily Prentiss was NOT, most people. And now he was curious what could have precipitated her shoving a man's face through plasterboard. He tipped his head quizzically.

"What did he do?"

With another faint wince, Emily used her injured arm to reach up and pull down the shoulder of her sweater.

"This."

Hotch's eyes widened in alarm even as his fingers automatically went up to ghost over the bruise.

"Jesus Christ Prentiss! It looks this bad two weeks _later_!?"

This was ten times worse than the marks she had now. His eyes snapped back over to hers.

"Did you file a report?"

With a disgusted huff, Emily pulled her shirt back onto her shoulder.

"God no, it wasn't worth the effort. Three hours of my personal time filling out paperwork for the type of injury I get two or three times a year on the job anyway? Besides, he was the one that had to go to the emergency room. I just had to pack my shoulder with some ice. It was only a soft tissue injury," she shook her head dismissively, "it was nothing."

Hotch didn't respond. He just looked at her for a second before his eyes traveled back down her arm. He stared at the blood drying on her skin.

"We need to clean your hand."

Emily looked down.

It really wasn't much of anything. The trauma from having her arm yanked had almost passed . . . she could flex it now without wincing . . . but he was right about getting cleaned up.

The cuts weren't serious, but her skin was all sticky from the blood.

Hotch walked to the end of the hall and knocked on the bathroom door. The bathrooms at this end of the bar were unisex single stalls so when nobody answered after a moment, he pulled it open, stepping back so Emily could enter.

Then to her surprise, Hotch followed her into the bathroom. Once there he immediately walked past her to go over and turn on the hot water. Her brow wrinkled slightly.

That was a bit unexpected. But then she realized that he was probably still in 'protective' mode.

After all, he did just break somebody's wrist for her.

Though if questioned she'd say it was an inadvertent injury the perpetrator had obtained while he was being questioned regarding an assault on a law enforcement officer. Though she knew that was crap. Hotch had snapped that guy's wrist in two because he'd left a mark on her arm. Which was very sweet.

In a really fucked up kind of way.

But Emily was . . . in a lot of ways . . . pretty fucked up herself, so she was going with sweet.

Still though, she figured it would probably be best if nobody walked in on the two of them in the bathroom together . . . it wouldn't look good . . . so she turned back to slide the door lock before following him over to the sink.

If it made him feel better to clean up her cuts, then she'd let him.

Emily ran her hand under the hot water, wincing slightly as it stung her wounded flesh.

After she pulled it back, Hotch began gently rubbing a soapy paper towel over the bits of dried blood. Then he ran her hand back under the faucet. Once he was satisfied that her cuts were . . . as suspected . . . only superficial, he turned off the water. He reached up to get another paper towel for her to dry off.

As Hotch stared at Emily's reflection in the mirror, he asked quietly.

"Why did you put his head through a wall?"

Hotch didn't know very many people that had a temper like he did. At least not _good_ people who did. And Emily was a good person, and so it worried him, wondering what could have happened to her.

Because he hoped to God that it was nothing like what had happened to him.

Emily slowly raised her head, catching Hotch's eyes in the mirror. She sensed from his tone . . . and how intently he was watching her . . . that there was more to the question than was apparent on its face.

And after she'd cleared her throat, she haltingly explained what had happened earlier in the month.

"I um, got into an argument with this guy. We'd been playing pool and I won. He said he wasn't going to pay a woman. He actually called me a, well, let's just say it was a four letter word that started with the letter C. So I called him a pathetic piece of shit, and he grabbed me and slammed my shoulder into a concrete pillar. And, well . . . I saw red." Her jaw twitched, "the next thing he saw was dry wall."

It was hardly the worst night of her life, but it wasn't exactly a banner evening either.

For a moment Hotch stared at Emily's face, and then his gaze shifted to the side. He slowly reached up to slide her shirt down from her shoulder again.

His fingertips tenderly traced the green and yellow bruise as he whispered.

"So you got this because you won a pool game?"

Hotch had once received a similar mark for getting a B on his history final. Maybe that's why Haley was leaving him. Maybe he was just too fucked up from everything that had happened when he was a kid. And . . . his eyes stung . . . everything he had seen as an adult. Maybe that's why she's couldn't stay with him any longer. Because there had to be a reason . . . a _good_ reason.

And he just desperately needed to understand what that reason was.

Emily's breath caught.

Though she wasn't quite sure what was happening with them, it suddenly seemed like it was very important. So she turned slowly towards him, her gaze dropping down to the dirty floor.

She was waiting for him to figure out what he wanted to do.

Though some part of her was aware that eventually somebody was going to knock on the door . . . or the others would start looking for them . . . but those were inconsequential concerns right now. And with the lull in their conversation she tuned back into the fact that the music was piped into the bathroom as well.

They were playing Coldplay . . . The Scientist.

And as she listened to the lyrics, it seemed fitting for the moment . . . _tell me your secrets and ask me your questions_.

Hotch stared at Emily's bruised shoulder for more a minute, perhaps even closer to two, before he finally fixed her shirt and pulled his hand back.

It fisted at his side.

Emily stared down at those clenched fingers and wondered what he was thinking. Then her eyes traveled slowly back up his body, finally resting on his face. She winced in sympathy.

He just looked so unbelievably lonely.

So she reached over and tentatively touched his arm. When he looked down, she gave him a sad smile.

"I know that you don't hug, but you know that I do. So you're getting one whether you like it or not, okay?"

Hotch's lips curved in a sad smile.

"Okay." He whispered back.

Once she had Hotch's consent, Emily stepped closer. There she wrapped her arms around his torso and placed her head on his chest. Then she squeezed him tight.

Hotch ran his hand down Emily's back while he continued to listen to the lyrics about a couple's relationship falling apart. And that's when he started to feel a creeping misery settling over him. He pulled Emily closer. Then he wrapped his arm possessively around her waist.

When she didn't pull away . . . in fact she held him even tighter . . . he closed his eyes, and did what he hadn't allowed himself to do that night in her apartment a few months before.

He let himself pretend that she was somebody else.

Because right now Emily Prentiss was something tangible that he could hang onto while the rest of his life was being ripped away from him.

As Hotch clutched her desperately against his chest, Emily's eyes began to water.

She so badly wanted to have the magic words to make this better. To offer him a little peace . . . but there was nothing to say. She figured the best that she could for him, was simply to hang on. So she tucked her head into the crook of his neck, molding her body tightly against his until there wasn't a sliver of light left between them.

Once she was settled, Emily breathed softly against his throat, smelling his Hotchness, feeling that sense of safety . . . and wondering again why Haley was leaving this man.

Feeling Emily's warm pliable body wrapped around him, with her breath tickling his neck, gave Hotch a physical stirring somewhere that he shouldn't when pressed up against one of his agents. But there were so many things that he was losing.

So many thing that he had already lost.

And now he had another woman offering him comfort and support because . . . his breath hitched . . . his wife didn't want that job anymore. Jesus Christ, how do you DECIDE something like that!?

That somebody that you've loved for half of your life is just no longer worth the effort.

He felt a tear run down his face . . . and then another.

They wouldn't stop.

A few seconds later Emily began to rub small soothing circles on his back. And for the second time in a month, Hotch thanked God for bringing her to him. They weren't really friends . . . by no routine definition would they be considered close . . . but they were something.

And whatever that was . . . he sucked in a shuddering breath . . . it was enough.

Feeling a sob rip through Hotch's chest, a tear slipped down Emily's face.

He was absolutely breaking her heart. And that's when she finally thought of one other thing that she could do to take away his pain.

At least for a little while.

She pressed a soft kiss on his throat . . . and then another, and another.

Slowly she kissed her way along his jaw as she rubbed her lower body against his. They'd already been pressed together, and she could feel him begin to harden almost immediately.

The sensation caused her nipples to do the same.

He might have been her chief, but he was also crying in her arms. So at the moment, their professional status was really the last thing on her mind.

She leaned back so she could see his expression . . . there wasn't one.

He was just staring at her.

Hotch wiped the tears off his face . . . he didn't know what to say. Was she really offering to do this? And was he really considering it?

Their working relationship didn't seem to be a concern for her. And given how gut achingly empty he felt right then, it really didn't feel like much of a concern to him either. And she'd only had two beers so she certainly wasn't drunk.

Emily stood up on her toes, and gently kissed his lips.

"If you want to," she murmured against them, "then it's okay." Then she leaned back slightly to give him a little smile, "and it's okay if you don't."

When he only blinked in response, she took his silence as assent so she skimmed her hands down his chest, running them over the bulge in his pants. She squeezed lightly before she began to undo his belt.

Foreplay seemed a waste of time. He was obviously ready to go. And she'd been ready since she'd felt his heat pressing against her.

This was all about the act . . . she began to stroke him through his boxers . . . nothing more.

As Hotch felt Emily begin to give him a hand job, he blinked.

Apparently she really was offering. And it had been a LONG time since he'd had sex, so it only took a few seconds of her stroking him, to feel himself harden to steel. And that's when he realized that he was actually going to do it.

He was going to have sex with Emily.

Just as she started to slip her fingers inside, he surprised her by suddenly crushing his mouth against hers. Her hand fell away as he picked her up off the tile floor, and placed her on the counter.

Emily immediately wrapped her legs around Hotch's waist, yanking him closer as she angled their bodies. And then she felt him grind against her.

She squeaked.

His erection was rubbing right against her center, driving her insane. Her nails scraped down his back.

She wanted him inside her NOW!

Feeling his libido begin to run out of his control, Hotch slipped his fingers under Emily's sweater and up her sides while simultaneously sliding his tongue along her lower lip.

He was asking for permission to enter.

And when she gave it . . . he plundered. This kiss was nothing like their previous ones. This one was wanton, and passionate, and he had her moaning and gasping for air before he'd even removed a stitch of her clothing.

That's not to say though that one roving hand hadn't already released the hooks on her bra.

He had one breast free from its cup, and was gently kneading it in his hand.

That action resulted in another moan from her.

And after a minute or so of exploring the depths of her mouth . . . while his thumb had moved on to caress her nipple . . . he began to suck hungrily on her tongue.

She tasted like something familiar, and it wasn't just the beer . . . it was something else. And then she ground her lower body against his, and the thought slipped away as he went out of his mind.

His hand fell away from her breast and down to her zipper.

He hadn't had sex in months. He had been having regular sex since he was sixteen, and he hadn't been with a woman in SIX months!

If Emily made that move again she just might KILL him!

Still hungrily . . . and possessively . . . capturing her mouth, he grabbed her by the waist and roughly yanked down her zipper. Then he slipped his fingers under the scrap of cotton.

Feeling that she was already more than ready . . . she was completely wet . . . he lifted her off the counter. Before either of them could blink, he'd yanked down her pants and underwear in one fluid motion. And he was just about to lift her up, when suddenly he froze.

SHIT!

"I don't have a condom!" He exclaimed in horror.

He hadn't carried a condom in his wallet in twenty years. Married men don't need to walk around with condoms. But . . . his jaw twisted . . . he wasn't a married man anymore. He was a recently single man who was about to get laid and just slammed head on into a brick wall!

Emily stared at him in astonishment for a second.

_Why was he STOPPING!? _

Then she processed the words that he'd said and she pulled him down to run her tongue along the shell of his ear.

"It's okay," she whispered huskily, "I'm on the pill, and I'm clean."

And she was thanking GOD for both of those things! Because there was no way that they were stopping now!

Not when she was this damn worked up!

For a moment Hotch closed his eyes as Emily did that wonderful thing with her mouth. Then he remembered that they could be doing way better things than that if he'd just get it in gear. So he pulled her forward.

"Clean too," he murmured against her throat, and Emily grinned.

_Thank you Jesus! _

She wrapped her arms around his neck, as she hooked one leg up and over his hip. And then he lifted her slightly, and pulled her forward just a little more, groaning as he finally slid inside of her.

_CHRIST, THAT FELT GOOD!_

With a sharp gasp, Emily's fell shut. So Hotch stopped, waiting for her to adjust before he made any further moves. After a few seconds he pulled his head back slightly so he could see her expression. Then he ran his index finger down her cheek.

"Are you okay?" He whispered.

Feeling her muscles finally relax, Emily opened her eyes and smiled.

"Yep," she slowly exhaled, "it's just been a little while."

Hotch kissed her gently on the mouth.

"You and me both." He murmured. Then he gave her a dimple and a wink. "I hope I remember where everything goes."

Emily's eyes crinkled.

"I have full faith in you Hotch," she murmured against his lips, "after all, you are the king of everything."

The corner of Hotch's mouth quirked up in amusement, but then he quickly sobered again as his expression softened.

"Are you really sure you're okay Emily?" He asked quietly, "I don't want to hurt you."

He might have really, REALLY wanted to have sex right then, but her well-being was far more important than his libido. And he'd stop immediately if he thought for a second that doing this might cause her any pain.

Tears filled Emily's eyes . . . God he was such a sweetie.

Haley was an idiot.

This time she didn't push the thought aside. Her 'stakes' in the game had been upped since earlier in the evening. Given that she and Hotch were now physically JOINED together, clearly her allegiance had shifted as well. No more middle of the road, 'everybody is entitled to their own feelings' bullshit.

Seriously, screw the bitch.

So to that end . . . that he was probably the sweetest guy that she knew, and his estranged wife was a total schmuck for putting him through hell this last year . . . Emily gave Hotch a watery smile as she shook her head.

"You won't hurt me, I promise. I'm good."

With his teeth sinking into his lip, Hotch looked at Emily for a second before he leaned down. And with a soft kiss he picked her up completely. And then he moved them over and her back against the wall. They'd have better leverage than the counter.

Plus . . . he hitched her up a little higher . . . it was cleaner.

When her leg tightened around his waist, he could feel her boot digging into his back. And with that . . . he finally began to move.

Thrusting in slow easy circles, up . . . he felt Emily's even thrusts as she pushed back . . . and around, making it go slow.

Making it last.

Because he didn't know the next time that he'd be having sex, and . . . his breath started to quicken . . . he was most definitely going to make this one count.

After a few minutes he felt Emily's fingers dig into his back, and then her walls clamped down on him . . . it was exquisite . . . as the first orgasm rocked through her.

When she began to cry out, he quickly covered her mouth with his, and she ended up biting down on his lip. And tasting the drop of blood on his tongue, he felt a swell of male pride.

Maybe he'd hadn't done this in a while, but at least he knew . . . he could still do it right. Though some part of him _really_ couldn't believe that he was screwing Emily Prentiss against a bathroom wall!

But that was . . . he bit back a groan . . . most DEFINITELY what was happening!

Feeling her body slam into the plasterboard for the umpteenth time, Emily knew she was going to be covered in bruises tomorrow, but that was A frigging okay! It was TOTALLY worth it! Because . . . her eyes rolled back in her head . . . Hotch was really, REALLY good at this! She felt her second orgasm rip through her and she muffled her cries against his throat.

_Yeah, he was SO good at this!_

So good in fact that it was a damn genuine shame that it was a onetime deal. But this was definitely a no strings engagement and they both knew it. Under any other circumstances . . . with ANY other man . . . she'd worry that things would be incredibly awkward between them tomorrow. But . . . her nails scraped along his back, tearing at his shirt . . . these were special circumstances. And they had a special relationship . . . so she knew that it would be all right.

As she felt Hotch finally begin to come, he reached down and stroked her clit making sure she rode the wave along with him.

Three times. The man made her come three times. She buried her face in his neck . . . amazing. And then she felt his body shudder . . . and then the warmth began to spill into her.

While her body was still humming, he moved a few more times . . . they might have been involuntary . . . but then finally he stopped. It took her a second longer before she loosened the nails she had pressing into his shoulder blade.

Both of them were gasping even as he leaned down to give her another kiss. This one was soft and sweet.

His hands encircled her waist.

Then he dropped his head to her shoulder and held her to his body close to his until they'd both caught their breath.

It took at least a minute.

And in the silence that followed, he leaned back and looked down at her nervously.

"It's not going to be strange now, right?" His fingertips pressed into her right hip, "I mean, we're still good?"

Hotch really hoped she wasn't having any second thoughts. He'd hate it if their working relationship became strained.

Emily's eyes crinkled as she reached up with both hands to try to wipe the worst of her lipstick off his face.

"We're still good," she brushed her thumb along the corner of his lip, "and I promise it's not going to be strange. That was amazing, but I know we can't do it again. And just like Vegas," one of her hands came to rest on his cheek, "what happens in the locked bathroom stall, stays in the locked bathroom stall."

Hotch flashed her a half a dimple as he leaned forward and kissed her again. At the same time he shifted his hips slightly so he slid out of her.

After the kiss broke, she winked and then they each turned slightly to the side to pull themselves back together.

As he zipped up his fly, Hotch sigh in relief . . . he'd definitely picked the right woman to have meaningless sex with.

Well, not meaningless . . . she was right, that was amazing, and he actually did feel better. Not just physically, but emotionally. And to his surprise . . . he didn't feel guilty.

Not a bit.

The divorce papers were signed, his marriage legally dissolved. Emotionally . . . he turned back to help Emily with the clasps on her bra . . . it probably had been for a while. He just hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. And if Haley hadn't pushed it tonight, he might have been hanging on to false hope for months.

Just prolonging the inevitable.

Emily was right though, sex had to be a onetime thing. They worked together, and he could _not_ start sleeping with one of his agents. Not only was it inappropriate . . . well, way more so than what they had just done, but if it got out it would severely damage both of their careers.

His he was less concerned about because Strauss already had him on a choke chain, but he wasn't going to allow her reputation to become sullied.

Though as he looked over at Emily, with her face glowing while she was now trying (somewhat fruitlessly) to fix her wild hair, he realized how much that really . . . as she would say . . . sucked.

Because that was some of the best sex he'd ever had. And he really didn't think he was just being bitter about Haley. That really ranked up there on the _best_ sex EVER list.

Then he had a thought.

Just because they couldn't do it _after _tonight didn't mean they couldn't do it _again_ tonight. Well, if she wanted to. But he probably needed to tell her about the papers first. The first time they weren't really in a position to have an in-depth conversation . . . not with his tongue down her throat. But she'd known what she was getting into.

After all, it had been her idea to start.

But having a quickie in the bathroom to make him feel better was one thing. Before he broached the subject of doing anything else, she deserved to know the situation as it stood.

So he walked up behind her, his arm sliding around her waist as she pulled her body to his. He rested his chin on her shoulder.

When their eyes caught in the mirror, he stared at her for a moment.

"I signed the papers right after I left the office. I thought you should know."

Her eyes widened in surprise, and then they filled with sadness as she bit her lip.

"I'm sorry."

Still holding her gaze, he nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he whispered, "me too."

Emily knew how badly he'd wanted to fix things. Though in retrospect she should have known what had happened. Because he never would have accepted her offer to have sex, if he was still married.

Hotch didn't cheat.

Not that Emily, or most people . . . including the Commonwealth of Virginia . . . would have considered what they'd done 'cheating.' He was legally separated, and had been for many months. That's why she'd felt no compunctions about making the offer.

But . . . she rubbed her hand down his arm . . . Hotch wasn't most people. His standards of integrity were above reproach. And he wouldn't have done that with her if any part of him still felt like there was a chance to save his marriage.

Appreciating her expression of sympathy, Hotch held Emily close for a moment longer just enjoying the contact. The soft curves that he was being allowed to touch in a way he never had been before.

But after a few minutes, the hand on her hip slid around and under her shirt. His fingers dipped into the waistband of her pants. He gently caressed her stomach.

Though he didn't really feel comfortable coming right out and asking her if she wanted to have sex again, this would make his desires clear.

And it would make them clear without any awkwardness if she didn't feel the same way.

Emily's eyes crinkled slightly as Hotch fingers began to glide across her stomach.

Though they both knew . . . and had agreed . . . that this wasn't going to be a regular occurrence, his thoughts here were clear. And he was right, as far as tonight went, they were already in for a penny.

And he was still so sad. She knew that, she could see it in his eyes, and she would like to make him feel better.

Make him forget for a little while longer.

So she caught his eyes in the mirror as she gave him a soft smile.

She could see he was nervous and was waiting to see what she thought about doing it again. She placed her hand over his, leaning her body back.

"Okay," she murmured, "but not here. They're going to come looking for us eventually and we're going to get caught."

Hotch kissed her neck, "I know we just agreed no more but . . ."

Emily cut him off as she smiled at his reflection.

"But you figure that we don't turn back into pumpkins until midnight."

With a faint blush, Hotch he tipped his head down slightly.

"Something like that."

And seeing that reaction in him, the slight reddening of his cheeks, Emily's breath caught.

The man had just fucked her against a bathroom wall and now he was blushing just _talking_ about doing it again.

That was about the hottest thing she'd ever seen.

She turned around in his arms and leaned up to kiss him. And as she sucked softly on his lower lip she mumbled back.

"Well, if you can promise me three more orgasms like those then the fairy godmother can extend the clock until 6 am."

Hotch smiled against her mouth.

"I think I can arrange that."

He slipped his tongue past her lips, running it along her teeth, distracting her as he slid down her zipper again and then plunged two fingers inside her depths.

Emily gasped against his mouth as Hotch began stroking her again. He was going further back and then she started to pant. She could feel it building . . . her eyes closed . . . and building.

And then he hit the sweet spot.

One of hers anyway, she knew all women were different. But Hotch definitely had a knack when it came to her body. And as his finger stopped to rub that one spot he'd felt her respond to, her toes began to curl.

"OH GOD!"

Emily's head fell and she buried her face against Hotch's neck as he made her come for the FOURTH time in forty-five minutes.

"I owe you two more." He murmured with a kiss to the top of her head.

Though he knew that she was right about getting out of there, he'd wanted her to know that he was thankful to her. For what she was doing.

For helping him.

And he thought that was the best way of saying thanks. He rubbed his hand down her back . . . also he'd just found something she liked.

He made a mental note to hit that spot again.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she sighed against his neck, "then we really need to get the hell out of here because if you do that again while we're here I'm going to melt into a puddle of goo like the wicked witch."

Hotch chuckled as he squeezed her against his body, "understood."

He knew he really needed to let go of her so they could get out of there. But, she was warm, and she smelled good, and she really was making him feel better. Yes, he knew the sex was a huge part of that . . . but technically he could have had sex with some strange woman that he'd met in the bar. Not that he ever _would_ have, but he _could_ have.

But he knew it wouldn't have been the same.

Emily was somebody he cared about, who cared about him, who had done this with him because she wanted him to feel better. So even though their feelings for one another weren't romantic . . . they were real.

So the act had meant something beyond just the physical.

And he was afraid if he let go of her that he'd lose whatever tenuous connection he'd managed to make. Because this was the first time in months that he didn't feel alone. And he already knew that tomorrow . . . and the next day and the day after that . . . they were all going to be hell. Because he was going to have to figure out how to live his life without any hope of ever having things the way they used to be. He buried his face in Emily's hair.

He just wanted to put off that feeling for as long as possible.

Emily could feel Hotch starting to slip away from her again. But it was too soon for that. They had until morning until reality had to be dealt with.

So she leaned back to give him a small smile.

"I promise I can keep you distracted for the next," her arm came up as she checked her watch, "ten hours." Then her eyes crinkled when she looked back at him.

"Now think of how many other _fun_ things we can do if we're not spending that half a day in a public bathroom." She tapped her finger against her chin. "Balloon animals for instance, perhaps a puppet show." Seeing Hotch's lips begin to twitch she continued, "um, origami or maybe an infomercial marathon."

"Hmm," Hotch smirked, "those do sound like some pretty scintillating activities, and," he looked around, "it would be damn near impossible to get a good puppet show going in here."

With a wise nod, Emily rubbed her hands down his biceps.

"Exactly, the lighting is terrible. So, I suggest that we get the hell out of dodge." She quirked her lip up, "I'll shoot JJ a text that I'm sick and that you're taking me home. And then we can slip out the back exit next to the kitchen so we don't run into anyone. That way . . ." she tucked her head under his chin, "you can keep a firm grasp to assure yourself that I won't disappear."

Hotch froze.

"Was I that obvious?" He asked with a trace of embarrassment.

The one serious drawback to getting personally involved with another profiler was that you couldn't hide a damn thing.

"Hotch," Emily ran her hand down his back, "I know what you've been through. And I promise that I'm not going to make this harder for you by changing my mind when we walk out that door. I won't do that to you." She kissed his throat before leaning up to wrap her arms around his neck again. Then she whispered in his ear.

"I won't leave you."

Her choice of words was deliberate. She knew, even without him telling her, that when Haley walked away he felt like he'd been abandoned. That's how she would have felt. Come on, somebody walks off and takes your kid and they leave you behind.

The pain had to have been excruciating.

And when that happened, he became the poster child for abandonment issues. So even though she couldn't promise him 'til death do us part . . . she could promise ten hours. And then tomorrow . . . if he wanted . . . maybe they could try being friends.

Real friends.

The kind that shared their time, and their thoughts, and not just an occasional intense moment. And then she could promise that she'd be there for him, just in a different way than she was now.

Hotch's eyes began to burn as he wrapped his hands around her waist, holding on tight.

Emily leaned back.

"You come home with me, we'll have sex, we'll sleep, have some more sex, and sleep some more. Then we'll wake up tomorrow at my house, have one last goodbye, and then coffee. And before we leave for work I'll kiss you goodbye at the door, and then we'll go back to what our relationship was this morning, and it won't be strained or awkward, or anything else bad, okay?"

He gave her a watery smile.

"Okay."

With a sad smile, she wiped away the bit of moisture from the corner of Hotch's eye. Then he leaned up to press a kiss against his mouth.

"Come on," she murmured, "let's go home."

* * *

_A/N 2: I'd just like to add at this point, writing sex scenes is hard! Way harder than you would think because you don't want to make it icky or mechanical or just plain sceevy. Not to mention there's like logistics involved and keeping track of where stuff is . . . oy. It's rough! So again, thanks to Kavi for helping me with a couple of logistical points that definitely helped it read more smoothly than it would have otherwise._

_Though there is quite a bit of sex in the first few chapters, this is not a smut story. This is a relationship story with sex in it. And the purpose of the sex was to find a new way to bring them together. Pulling off the hat trick again. Because you have to keep in mind, this is six months before they become aware of their feelings in Horses, and eleven months before they become involved in Girl. But the point being, their relationship in each of these worlds evolved at a different pace because different things happened. So here, sex is used for bonding. And in some ways their relationship will be even further along than what it is presently in Girl, but in other ways, they're still virtual strangers. In the dating sense._

_I haven't broken them all out yet but probably the five chapters all take place over this night at her house. And one thing to note as you read, again along the lines of this isn't smut without purpose, there are different 'kinds' of sex in each chapter. And I mean like this one was comfort sex. The next one is something different and there's a progression as the night goes on. And those different acts were necessary to connect emotionally in different ways. And I mention this now, early, just so the sex acts themselves don't kind of overpower that underlying flow of what's really going on between them._

_Next: "**Dress shirts, Chinese Food & Major Awards**"_


	2. Dress Shirts Chinese Food & Major Awards

**Author's Note**: This picks up back at her place.

FYI, the sex scene in this one is a little bit 'whoa.' I know. I did it on purpose. I will explain at the end.

* * *

_Early January_

**Dress shirts, Chinese Food & Major Awards**

Hotch looked over to Emily pulling on his shirt.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She paused mid-button, "the Chinese should be here soon. I'm going downstairs."

With a scowl, Hotch pushed himself off the bed and the stood up, reaching down to grab his boxers off the floor. "No, you're not."

Confused at his behavior, Emily wrinkled her brow, "why not?"

He ran his gaze slowly up her body until he caught her eyes, "you seriously think you're dressed appropriately to go answer the door?"

Frowning, she looked down, "but I'm covered almost to my knees." Then she thought about that and she rolled her eyes at him, "God Hotch I have _skirts_ shorter than this."

Shaking his head he pulled on his boxers before crossing over to the door where she was frowning at him. She was standing there, her face pink, her hair wild, naked except for his dress shirt, which was open at the neck and clinging to all her curves.

She was absolutely gorgeous.

He didn't say any of that though, he just stared at her and she looked up at him quizzically, "what?" He didn't answer. Instead he picked her up and carried her back over to the bed, laying her down in the middle. And then he stood looking down at her.

Pushing herself up on her elbows, Emily smirked at him.

"Kind of hard to answer the door from here."

"Kind of the point," he answered drolly.

He got back on the bed, slowly running his hand up her leg, caressing her calf, her knee, sliding his shirt aside as he went higher. Then his fingers paused on the slightly discolored flesh on her upper thigh. And he wondered what had happened, but knew by the sudden tension in her body that he shouldn't ask. He looked up to her face and he saw fear in her eyes. And he felt terrible. Because, although it was inadvertent, he knew he had put it there.

Crawling up beside her, he wrapped his arms around her body as he whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

She nodded but didn't answer him, and then he knew for sure, whatever had left that mark, it wasn't an accident. He curled his body around hers, pulling back his shirt so he could kiss her shoulder, and then he just held her until the tension started to leave her body. Finally she rolled over to face him and he picked up her hand, kissing the back of her fingers before asking.

"Do you want me to go?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, "God no!"

She knew he had already inferred that the scar from her skin graft wasn't a topic for discussion. Certainly not now, or possibly ever. She'd never told anyone that story. And when his fingers had stilled, she'd been absolutely terrified that he was going to ask what had happened. Because invariably every man she'd ever been with had, and every single time it had been the end of the relationship. Not that it was a dramatic 'get out of my house' moment, usually she just blew off the question. Depending on how they took that, sometimes it killed the mood completely, sometimes it didn't.

But she'd always known at that moment, that moment when they asked the question, that this was a man that she had no intention of ever telling her secrets to.

But Hotch, simply by not asking, by just knowing, made her feel differently. It was too bad this wasn't a relationship because she thought maybe, someday, she might have told him.

That's why it had taken longer to recover than it should have for a non-discussion of a twenty-four year old scar. She was thrown by the sensation that Hotch was somebody maybe she could tell her secrets too, and that they would be safe. Because she had a feeling, based on the faint marks she'd seen on his back, that he had a few secrets of his own.

But tonight wasn't for show and tell. Show and tell meant that you were in it for the long haul, and their exit was coming up shortly. She ran her hand along his abdomen, the muscles rippling beneath, and she felt the strength there and knew that she didn't want him leaving her bed any sooner than he had to.

She pushed him onto his back so that she could climb onto his torso, and looking down she stared deep into the depths of his black eyes. Yeah . . . her secrets would be safe here. She felt Hotch reach up to grasp her gently by the waist. And she smiled sadly at him as she leaned down to press her lips to his, whispering, "don't leave, please."

Hotch wished he knew who had hurt her so badly. Because the pain they had inflicted on her would be nothing compared to what he would do to them if he ever found them.

His eyes were soft as he ran the back of his fingers down her cheek.

"I'll stay as long as you want."

It was a promise he intended to keep, no matter what else happened.

Emily lay her head down on his shoulder, "I want you to stay until the clock runs out . . ." she nuzzled his neck, "and then we leave together."

Hotch clasped his arms around her back, holding her to his chest as he whispered, "okay."

He understood then, whatever casual thread they thought would pull along this night of coupling had snapped and been replaced by something more. Something stronger, something that was going to keep them bound even after they walked out her front door in the morning.

But as he felt her warm breath tickling his throat, and her slim body wrapped around his, he realized he was okay with that. She had offered herself to him because she saw that he was lonely and broken. And he accepted because he needed to know he was still capable of making a connection with another person. And he had. But they had gotten much more than they bargained for when they had made that agreement in the bathroom. And he was pretty sure that was because they were more similar than they'd realized. They were connecting because, though for different reasons, it was obvious that she was lonely and broken too.

Sighing he began to run his hand soothingly up and down her back, wishing he had the time to find out what had happened to her. To see if there was anything he could do to fix it. But that kind of trust took time, and that, he thought sadly, was one thing that they did not have.

A few minutes later they heard the doorbell ring and Hotch patted her back, "Billy's here." Emily started to chuckle against his chest, "I can't believe you remembered the name of my Chinese delivery boy." Sitting up, Hotch rolled her off of him, leaning down to give her a quick peck on the lips, smirking as he pulled back, "he's competition."

Pushing off the bed he looked back down at her with a scowl, "that's why you are NOT answering the door like that."

Emily started laughing as she put her hand out so he could pull her up, "I don't understand what the big deal is. I'm completely covered."

Shaking his head Hotch wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they started heading downstairs. She honestly had no idea how sexy she looked. His lips twitched, perhaps he should give her some idea. Raising his eyebrow he looked down at her, "if I wasn't so damn hungry I'd take you against the wall right now."

Smirking, Emily slipped her hand inside the band of his boxers, running her thumb along his hip, "don't say it if you don't mean it."

Sliding his hand down, Hotch stilled her fingers, "Emily, it would probably be best if I _didn't_ answer the door with an erection."

He squeezed her hand as he added drily, "Billy would probably get the wrong idea."

Emily snorted and then laughed out loud as the full mental image hit her.

"True, and unlike you, I do have to live here, so yeah, let's not have you make any sexual overtures to my delivery boy."

As they reached the bottom of the stairs the bell rang again but Hotch ignored it as he looked down at her, "I'm glad you see my point, but once we eat . . ." he backed her against the wall, and leaning down laved his tongue over her nipple, sucking it to a tip through his shirt. He looked back up with a smirk to see Emily biting her lip.

Taking a breath she gave him a dirty look, "you do _that_ and then pull away. That's just mean."

He smirked as he walked down the hall, calling back, "that's what you get for doubting me."

It wasn't until he opened the door that he realized he didn't have his wallet. Or even his pants. He looked down at the young Asian kid standing there holding a brown paper bag.

"Billy?"

The kid nodded suspiciously as he looked him over, "yeah, who are you? There's a lady that lives here." Hotch's lips twitched, "I'm a friend of the lady's." Putting his hand on the doorjamb he called back over his shoulder, "Emily wallet?"

Emily darted her eyes around frantically on the floor looking for a pair of pants. Either his or hers would do.

Boot . . . button . . . button . . . belt . . . pants!

His.

Picking them up she started digging into his pockets. And even though she'd now had sex with the man twice, it still felt like an oddly intimate invasion of his personal space.

Badge . . . keys . . . wallet!

Pulling it out she hurried down to the front door and handed it to him. Then she noticed that Billy's eyes were bugging out as he peered around Hotch's arm to see her. She quickly stepped back behind Hotch, standing on her tiptoes to put her chin on his shoulder as she smiled, "hi Billy."

Billy's mouth snapped shut and then he swallowed hard, "uh, uh, hi Miss Prentiss."

Clearing his throat Hotch glared at him and Billy's eyes snapped back to his, "uh, $33.50." Hotch handed him two twenties and gave him a cold smile as he took the bag from his hand, "bye Billy." Billy nodded nervously and took off at a run down the hall.

As Hoch shut the door he felt Emily smack him on the shoulder, "did you just scare him?" He turned around to see her scowling as she said angrily, "because Billy's never run off like he was on _fire _before!"

Shrugging he turned back to hit the deadbolt, "I may have and I will not apologize for it." He turned to look at her seriously, "after seeing you tonight he was going to visualize you as a sexualized being. And the next time he comes to the door you're probably going to be here by yourself."

Exasperated with his presumptions, Emily interrupted, "Hotch he's not a sex offender. He's a _sweet_ kid."

Walking past her Hotch put the food down on the counter, "that may very well be, but he was going to start looking at you differently, and you would have picked up on it, and eventually it would have started to make you uncomfortable." He turned to look at her, "and because of that, before long, you won't be ordering from there anymore. But now, the last thing he's going to remember about this night is the threat of me kicking his ass."

Turning back to the bag, he started taking out cartons, "now he's afraid of me. So you won't have any problems and your relationship with Billy can go on like it did before he saw you in that shirt."

Her face softened in understanding as she looked at him, "so you were mean to Billy so I can keep getting the Chinese food I like?"

Opening the container of sesame chicken she specifically wanted from this restaurant, he nodded, "yep."

She stared at him for a moment, and then, biting her lip, she went over and leaned against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist, "that's really sweet, thank you."

Another sweet in a fucked up kind of way, but it was a way that Hotch expressed affection. And honestly, given her own wiring, it was a way that she could understand. It meant more than all the empty promises men had ever made in a futile effort to get into her pants.

He turned around in her arms, leaning down to capture her lips. The kiss deepened as their mouths opened and she began to suck on his tongue as he had sucked on hers at the bar. And that was the point where they started to lose control. She ran her fingers through his hair, possessively holding him to her mouth as she ground her lower body against his. And even though they'd had sex less than an hour ago, he was rock hard in a matter of seconds. He was pretty sure he was going to set a personal record tonight.

Groaning, their mouths still attached, he picked her up, cupping her ass as she wrapped her legs around his waist. The dress shirt had ridden up and her sex was in direct contact with his hot flesh. The man was like a furnace! As she rubbed against him, the heat and the friction had her wet almost immediately. And feeling his still clothed erection pushing insistently against her, Emily once again had the sensation that she needed him inside of her immediately or she was going to go insane.

No man had ever done that to her before, made her go completely out of her mind. It was frightening, and exhilarating at the same time.

Hotch walked them over to the couch, sucking her tongue, chewing on her lip, sweeping her mouth, trying to taste as much of her as he could so he wouldn't forget. She was grinding against his waist and the sensation of her naked body pressing against him was enough to make him feel like a sixteen year old boy again. It took every bit of his considerable self control to keep from shooting his wad prematurely.

When they got to the sofa she loosened her legs, sliding to the ground and she looked up at him with a wantonness that almost killed him. He yanked his boxers down tossing them aside. Then, he reached down, he was going to hook her leg over his hip, but suddenly she turned around. And he realized she wanted him to take her from behind. It showed a trust that he wasn't sure he was worthy of, but he slipped his hand under her shirt, _his_ shirt he suddenly remembered, and dipped his fingers into her center, she was dripping wet.

That was all it took.

He bent her over the couch, running his fingers gently up her flank, and then he took his rock hard cock and slowly slipped it into her. Reveling in the agonizingly slow slide into her smooth depths. And as with the times before, he stopped, waiting for her to adjust before he moved, but once he felt her muscles relax he pulled back almost all the way, and then pounded back into her. Over and over, with as much strength as he thought he could without her hurting her. And given the sounds she was making, he knew what she was feeling wasn't pain.

All he wanted to do was fuck her. And that was the word for it, he felt possessive, he wanted to make her his, his woman, not one to be looked at by any other man. Even if it was just a nineteen year old boy, and even if she was just his for one night.

Bracing himself against the couch with one hand, he reached around with the other and started massaging her clit, he might only get one shot at this but, he was going to make damn sure she came as many times as possible before this round was over. He had already seen she was capable of multiple orgasms so there was no reason she shouldn't get them.

As Hotch's calloused fingers, ran slow perfect circles around her clit, his middle finger dipped back as it had earlier in the night, instantly hitting that spot once more, and for some reason, the fact that he remembered brought tears to her eyes. He caressed it, and her toes began to tingle and the warmth began to spread out from her center, filling her, before it exploded and she screamed.

Honest to God screamed.

She was usually much better at keeping her emotions under control. Even during sex, but as he kept pounding into her, over and over with his hot breath at her neck she felt it coming again and she frantically grasped a pillow to muffle her cries. But Hotch pulled it away as he roughly panted, "I want to hear it Emily, scream for me."

And she did.

Before it was done she'd screamed his name over and over again. She lost count. And the name she screamed wasn't Hotch, it was Aaron, and given how he had buried his face in her neck as she'd done it, she had a feeling he was inordinately pleased about that.

Feeling him suck in a breath, he slowed with the final thrust and she braced herself as he came against her with a violent shudder. And as he stopped, finally, God knows how long after they started, he pulled out of her and she felt bereft at the loss of the connection. Usually sex was just a physical act intended to bring about pleasure, rarely did she feel more than that. Sometimes, if it was a nice guy that she'd been dating for awhile she felt something more, but it was always restrained.

But with him, she wanted to keep him with her, physically and emotionally. It was a troubling feeling that she tried to push aside. She couldn't let herself get too attached to him. Not like that. If she did it would make it that much harder tomorrow morning when they had to go back to their real lives.

Reaching down he pushed aside her hair, kissing her sweaty neck and enjoying the salty taste of her. And then he turned her around, and she ran her hands up his chest as she grinned.

"Best . . . fuck . . . ever!"

He started to laugh as he lifted her up off the ground, burying his face in her hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

"Seriously, best ever," she leaned back, kissing him softly as she murmured against his lips, "we should like win an award or something."

Mouth twitching he put her back on the ground, "what exactly would an award for that look like do you think?"

She scrunched up her face, "hmm, I don't know. But probably not something you could put in the living room."

Hotch chuckled as he tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, "did you know that you're the only person that can make me laugh?" She looked at him in astonishment, "I am?"

He nodded, "yep, well, Garcia maybe has once or twice, and," he got a faraway look on his face, "Jack makes me happy, but besides him, you're the only one that really can make me laugh."

Emily's eyes stung, she was the only person besides his son that could make him laugh . . . that could make him happy. She was both humbled and saddened by that. It felt like a great honor, especially because he'd actually shared that information with her. But on the other hand, she felt so sad that he had so little joy in his life.

Leaning up on her toes she gave him a kiss and a watery smile, "thank you for telling me that."

As he wrapped his arms around her body she made a vow to herself that she would make sure that he smiled at least once every day. Regardless of the nature of their relationship that was one promise she could keep.

They walked back down towards the kitchen where they separated so they could clean up before they ate. Emily headed for the small half bath off the front hall. And as she cleaned herself up with a washcloth she again thanked God that she was on the pill. Given how little time they had she would not have wanted to go fumbling for a condom every time the mood struck. Like now for instance, that would have TOTALLY sucked if they'd had to stop so one of them could run upstairs and get a condom. She snorted, maybe she should keep some tucked around the downstairs like Easter eggs.

She hadn't had sex without a condom in . . . God . . . she couldn't even remember. After she got pregnant when she was teenager she'd usually taken double precautions ever since. So unless it was a long term boyfriend, which was basically just Sully, she'd always used a condom even with the pill. But that was just her being overly cautious.

Emily came out of the bathroom to find Hotch, still sans boxers, washing his hands and his face in the sink. She smirked and went back to the living room, picking them up off the floor. He was wiping his face with the towel when she returned to the sink, and she held them out with her lips twitching.

"I can tell you right now that there's no way I'm going to be able to concentrate on my dinner if you don't put some pants on."

Huffing Hotch took them from her, quickly slipping them back on as he said, "well I am an old man so it really wouldn't have mattered how distracted you were at dinner. There's no possibility you're getting any more action until sometime _well_ after the fortune cookies."

Emily snickered as she went over and started picking over their food . . . it was all cold. And she was again wondering how long they were in the living room. She was basically in a little time bubble with Hotch, so she was trying to avoid looking at the clocks too often. Afraid if she did then she'd start to feel like time was slipping away.

She popped the sesame chicken into the microwave, that was better warm, but then she grabbed a fork out of the drawer and started eating the beef fried rice cold from the carton. She was ravenous and fried rice was good either way.

Of course in her haste to get sustenance she forgot, small bites with rice or you'll choke. And she tried to swallow too much . . . and she choked.

She made sure not to panic, she lived alone, and that was like the first thing you realized when you lived by yourself. You can't freak out if food gets lodged in your throat. You have to remain calm or else you'll make it worse. Though not panicking didn't seem to be really doing the trick like it usually did. But just then a glass of water appeared in front of her and she felt Hotch's hand on her back. She took a gulp of water and could feel the rice starting to go down, and then two more drinks and she felt like she could breathe again.

Eyes watering, she finally looked up sheepishly at a very worried Hotch. He rubbed her back.

"Are you okay?"

Cringing she nodded, "yeah, sorry. Ate too fast." Then she snorted, "that really would have sucked for you if I had died and you had to explain what you were doing here."

Hotch rolled his eyes, "because obviously the most upsetting part of that scenario would have been explaining my presence in your home. _Not_ you being dead."

Scowling at her, he angrily turned away and started tapping his fingers on the counter.

She was surprised to see that he was genuinely pissed off that she had joked about her dying. Leaning down she tried to catch his eyes as she said contritely, "I'm sorry."

No response.

And he still wouldn't look at her. Man, she'd really fucked up. Well, she was going to take advantage of their special one night only relationship and do something she'd never be able to do in the office if she made him angry.

She took a step forward and slipped her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly, refusing to let go until finally his arms encircled her and squeezed back. She sighed in relief. That definitely wasn't going to work in the bullpen, but here in her kitchen, yeah, this was something she could get used to.

Sighing in exasperation Hotch leaned down to rest his chin on the top of her head.

"What if I wasn't here? You could have choked to death Emily. You have to be more careful."

She had absolutely scared the crap out of him. All the ways he worries about losing them, just choking to death on a piece of food had never occurred to him before. But it happened to people every day.

Emily nodded against his chest, "I know . . . I know. Rice is like the bane of my existence. It always seems to expand in my throat. Honest to God I must choke on it like once a month. I mean God, who can't eat rice? Like a billion people on the planet everyday eat it for like three meals a day and yet somehow I manage to choke at least once every time. Too big a bite, it expands in my throat, too small and the granules trigger a gag reflex . . ." she paused as she felt her face start to get hot, "and as I realize I just said all of that aloud to you, then you must now believe I am a complete and utter moron."

Oh God, she was SO embarrassed! She couldn't believe she just told Hotch she didn't know how to eat RICE!

Seeing how mortified she was over what she'd said to him, the last of Hotch's irritation immediately melted away. His expression softened as he began rubbing her back.

"Emily you can tell me anything and I promise I would never think you were stupid."

She looked up at him nervously, "really?"

His eyes crinkled slightly as he nodded, "really, really." She put her head back on his chest, "thanks. Ditto."

He smiled as he continued to rub her back. Not for the first time that night wishing that Emily Prentiss was somebody he'd maybe met under different circumstances.

The microwave beeped and Hotch looked over, "chicken's done."

They gathered up all of their food and brought it into the living room, spreading it out on the coffee table, as they settled on the couch. They watched a rerun of Mythbusters as they ate their mostly cold dinner. And they joked and they laughed and they shared their food, and for a few minutes Emily almost forgot that they weren't a normal couple on any normal Thursday night. And then she remembered.

They weren't a couple at all.

She looked over at him and he smiled at her. She put down her rice, climbing over to curl into his lap, tucking her head under his chin. And as he wrapped her up in his arms, and whispered in her ear, she pretended for just a little while longer, that they were together, and that they were happy.

_

* * *

A/N 2: Yeah, the sex there was rather explicit BUT this one, going with the underlying flow I mentioned, was primal and possessive. Again, building a connection in a much more immediate way than they ever would in their platonic relationship building. But, that bit wouldn't have happened without the prior bonding in her bedroom when he sees her scar and he starts to feel protective towards her in a way he hadn't before. And that she started seeing him in a new light as well, which is how they ended up at the couch engaging in "dear God my eyes!" activities. _

_One funny thing, (way different author notes here!) as I was reading this final draft I realized Hotch's finger trick there might not have worked at that angle. But, for Emily's sake, let's say it did!_

_With the scar thing, his and hers, in terms of accelerated bonding, we've now jumped ahead on one issue to where they are in Girl almost ten months later. _

_I put this one up right away so you guys could get a better taste on where I'm going with this. The first chapter was a rewrite of two from Girl so probably about 50% of that was stuff you'd read before. But, I'm not far enough out on this story to keep posting every day. And I don't want to have another story mocking me with its incompleteness. So going forward, probably every three or four days I'll put up a new chapter until I run out. Though, hopefully I'll get my brain back in this verse and build up some new ones before the well runs dry :) Now that I'm being forced to read these again for typos I am starting to get some more ideas again. It's all a matter of which universes I make myself play in._

_Next: "__**Trust, Control, & Things You Don't Learn in Gym Class**__"_


	3. Trust, Control, & Things You Don't Learn

**Author's Note**: A shorter one but, stuff still happens :)

* * *

_Early January_

**Trust, Control, & Things You Don't Learn In Gym Class**

"Where did you learn how to do THAT?" Emily gasped as her fingertips dug into the sheets.

Hotch smirked as he climbed back up the length of her body.

"There aren't classes Emily," he huffed as he looked down at her, "you just _know_."

As he leaned in to kiss her, she licked his lips, tasting herself on him. Then she grinned as he pressed his mouth to hers.

"Really?" She murmured as their tongues tangled together, "I thought that there was something maybe they taught you guys when we got separated in gym class."

Hotch started to chuckle. and had to break off the kiss.

"Well, if that were really true," his lip quirked up in amusement as he looked down at her, "then wouldn't all men know how to do it?"

Emily scrunched up her face as she looked back at him.

"Hmm," she murmured as she moved to wrap her arms around Hotch's neck, "good point."

With a hint of lingering amusement at the expression on her face, Hotch rolled them over so that she was on top of him. And as she looked down, her hair fell around them in a soft cloud. He tucked it back behind her ear . . . and then, without thinking, he whispered, "do you know how beautiful you are?"

Feeling the blush spread across her cheeks, Emily lay her head back down on Hotch's chest.

"Aaron . . ."

He was going to break her. He was absolutely going to break her into little tiny pieces.

Hotch's breath caught, she called him Aaron . . . again.

No one ever called him Aaron anymore, and he worried sometimes that part of him was gone. But that was the name that she had screamed out downstairs. And now again she'd said it.

Somehow Emily could still see that part of him even though he couldn't.

Emily felt her eyes beginning to sting . . . he was so sweet. Always so sweet. Why did he have to be her boss? Why couldn't she have met him in the gym? Or a coffee shop?

Or anywhere but work, where he was off limits?

But at least this wasn't some sappy movie, she reminded herself. He wasn't going off to war in the morning. He would still be in her life. Just not . . . she bit her lip . . . like this. Feeling that tickle of melancholy beginning to spread, she flicked her watery eyes over to the alarm clock.

12:13 a.m.

Six hours left.

Time that she didn't want to waste. So she snuggled in close as she cleared over the lump in her throat. Then she whispered.

"What's your favorite color?"

/*/*/*/*/*/*/

"Emily get back up here."

Hotch's words came out as a groan, half due to the pleasure of what she was doing down below, and half due to the annoyance that she wasn't listening to him.

Completely ignoring Hotch's command, Emily continued to lick the length of him like a lollipop. And then she sucked the tip into her mouth . . . his hips bucked as he grabbed the sheets.

"Prentiss," he hissed, "that's an order!"

Good CHRIST! The woman was going to be the death of him!

That one, unlike his other protests, actually caught Emily's attention. She finally pulled her lips away, and her gaze traveled slowly up his naked body before she smirked.

"Oh, I hardly think that you're in any position to be giving orders right now, _sir_."

Funny though that he still was trying. Silly man.

Hotch cringed.

"I'm sorry," his nose wrinkled, "I didn't mean to say that. Force of habit." Then he gave her an imploring look as he put his hand out, "but really Emily, _please_ come back up here."

Emily stared at him for a moment, watching as his arm fell back to his side.

She was pretty sure that he'd been protesting the blow job because it was a complete loss of his personal control, which . . . physical pleasure notwithstanding . . . he would hate. But that was part of the reason that she wanted to do it, she wanted him to trust her that much more.

To let himself go completely for just a moment.

But she could see now that he was serious. He wanted her to stop. And of course she wasn't going to do something if it was going to make him genuinely uncomfortable, so she gave him a little smile as she nodded.

"Okay."

Then his eyes crinkled slightly as he looked back at her, and she felt a little spot of warmth fill her chest. Though as he reached for her again, Emily moved her arm back just a smidge.

Now that her scheduled activity had been tabled, she realized that there was another point to consider . . . she was only going to get maybe one more ride on the roller coaster tonight. Okay, perhaps two. But either way, there was no reason to get the ticket punched, and then not get ON the ride.

Especially a ride as good as this one!

And he was already locked and loaded, so she just switched her position, moving to climb on top of him. And then she closed her eyes as what she had eyeballed as a full nine inches of Hotch, filled her completely.

With a sigh with contentment at the feeling of him inside her, Emily's eyes crinkled as she leaned forward, her hands pressing down on either side of his pillow as she pressed her lips to his.

"Happy now," she murmured through the kiss.

Hotch ran his hands up Emily's sides and along the outer curve of her breasts. And as the kiss broke, his lip quirked up.

"Very much so," he whispered as his thumbs flicked over her erect nipples.

How could she NOT see how much more fun this was?

Emily's mouth quivered before she started to move slowly up and down his length, but Hotch only let her get in two strokes before his hands slipped down from her breasts and onto her hips. Then he flipped them to take over what she'd just started.

And as she found herself on her back looking up at him, she began to laugh.

"I knew it!" she chuckled even as she felt the exquisite friction of his movements. "You're the only man on the PLANET who would turn down a blow job! And it was all because you needed to get back into control. It's sex Hotch, not an interrogation."

At that remark, he stopped moving and her eyebrow rose up as she continued drily, "you do know that the outcome is the same even if you let me lead the orchestra?"

For a second, Hotch stared down at her. And then a smirk slowly appeared. And as she looked up at him with an identical expression, he shifted his lower body slightly. He could see from the look on Emily's face . . . the faint biting of her lip . . . that she felt the difference in the angle.

And she liked it.

So then he used one arm for leverage as he pulled back . . . and then thrust hard into her, and then again and again and again until the smirk had completely disappeared and she began to gasp.

"Aaron," she whimpered as her nails scraped along his back.

And that's when he leaned forward and captured her mouth in a searing kiss, covering her cries as she came.

And now feeling EXTREMELY satisfied with himself . . . there was nothing quite like having that sort of control . . . Hotch leaned back slightly and whispered.

"_That's_ why I need to be on top. Because you, Agent Prentiss," he gently brushed his fingers along the curve of her jaw, "do not have the physical strength to make _that_ happen _that _quickly, and by my count I think I owe you four more orgasms by dawn." His eyebrow rose up then in amusement, "you do keep upping the count on me, so I may have lost track."

Emily's lower body was still vibrating as she attempted to catch her breath. And then he leaned down to press a kiss to her throat, she turned her head slightly. Then she ran her tongue along the outer shell of his ear.

She remembered how much he'd liked that before. And given the resulting twitch she felt when she did it again, she knew that was still a solid move.

"Fine," she murmured as she kissed his cheek and pulled him to her breast for a quick hug, "I guess you make a solid argument for staying on top, but next time . . ."

And she trailed off.

There wasn't going to be a next time.

Damn it . . . she started to feel a swath of sadness cutting into her happiness . . . because they were having a really good time. And not just for the obvious physical reasons, but this Hotch that she had in her bed now, he was affectionate and funny . . . and playful.

Like night and day from work Hotch.

And she really liked this side of him. Apparently too much, because she'd again almost forgotten that there was a clock ticking. That tomorrow they were going to have to go back to being Serious and Seriouser at the office.

That sucked.

As Hotch pushed himself up slightly, and began to move once more . . . they were nowhere close to being done with this round . . . he saw Emily pout up at him.

"We really can't do this again, huh?"

God . . . his mouth quivered . . . that pout was adorable! He'd never seen it before. Well, obviously not because it really wouldn't be 'appropriate' to break it out at work. But seeing it now, his eyes crinkled as he paused for a moment to lean down and kiss her.

And as he pulled away a few seconds later, he tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear.

"No sweetheart," he whispered as he began moving again, "I'm sorry, but we can't."

The endearment had escaped his lips before he could stop it. But she didn't seem to notice, so he let it go. He knew what she meant though, because he too wished that there was some way that they could continue this night.

He liked spending time with her.

And he was realizing now . . . as she pulled him down and pressed her forehead against his . . . that he liked it too much. But it was too risky to try and continue this . . . whatever it was.

Though . . . a thought came to him as she began to nibble on his ear . . . maybe they could see each other on birthdays and national holidays. Then he groaned as he felt her wet tongue circling his lobe.

What was he thinking about?

National holidays . . . . maybe, no . . . he started to come back to himself . . . idiot. Clean break.

It was the only way.

Because if they set up any kind of arrangement, then it would be too much like an affair. And it was impossible to keep an affair under wraps in a freaking behavioral analysis unit.

They'd get crucified.

Realizing then that he wasn't properly focusing on the task at hand . . . well, he was, but not as intently as he should have been . . . Hotch shoved all of his 'higher brain functioning' thoughts to the side. There would be time for 'real thinking' later.

Now he had much more important things to do. So he paused for a second to grab a pillow from the other side of the bed.

He slid it underneath Emily's bottom, arching her body up another two inches.

And then he pulled out halfway, and then slid back into her. And he did it over and over and over again. Holding a slow, rhythmic pace that was making Emily pant as she pulled him back to her chest.

She hooked one of her legs half around his back, and the other around his waist. Then she began to rock against him, pulling him even deeper than before.

It felt amazing . . . she, felt amazing . . . but he wasn't quite ready to come yet.

So they kept going, another five minutes at least . . . perhaps longer, he wasn't exactly watching the clock. But he did know that Emily came at least once in that time. And somehow he was able to still hold on, but as he felt her muscles tightening around him again just when she let out a tiny squeak, he finally felt that familiar tingling begin.

He increased his speed then, coming in harder and harder, covering her mouth and jaw in kisses as she gasped and began to scream as she had down in the living room.

And soon after that came the flash of white as he groaned and cursed, climaxing inside of her for the fourth time that night. And then for a minute there was nothing but panting and gasping as his head dropped to Emily's breast.

She wrapped herself around him even tighter than before.

Then she slipped her arms around his slick body, clutching him desperately to her chest. He felt his eyes sting slightly as he squeezed back. That was probably their last time.

At least before morning.

That would make five complete couplings in total. They'd done it once at the bar, and then now four more times since they'd arrived at her apartment.

Their arrival was a very different entrance than the last one he'd made at her home. The time that he'd shown up with the pizza box after that horrific case.

This time he'd been grinding against her as she tried to work the lock on the door. He'd finally had to take the key out of her hand and do it himself before he actually took her in the damn hallway.

Though that option had some major appeal . . . a certain primal marking of his territory . . . it had only been eight-thirty when they got to her condo, and she did have to live in this building.

Now if it were two am . . . he kissed her throat . . . well, that might have been another story all together.

As it was, their clothes were now strewn all the way along the front hall, up the stairs and into her bedroom. And he was fairly sure that he owed her a pair of underwear and a bra, because he vaguely recalled some tearing of fabric when he realized that they were causing an impediment to him getting her naked.

Though she'd also ripped off some of his shirt buttons too, so maybe they were even there.

All the same, as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, he made a mental note to get her a gift card for Victoria's Secret.

That way she could replace whatever he had destroyed.

And he wanted to say something to her then, to explain why he had turned down the blow job. He knew that she thought that it was just the control issue, and that was admittedly a big part of it. That's why he'd never let Haley do it.

Not to the end.

But really though, his main objection was simply that he wanted to be inside of her when he came. With every joining, he felt closer to her emotionally . . . and he wanted to keep that connection as long as he could. Because he only had a little bit more time with her.

And then they would have to go back to the real world.

But for now, as he rolled her out of the wet spot . . . and then once more so she was under him again . . . he was going to embrace this little bubble. To extend this time as long as possible. And to that end, he decided not to pull out of her.

Instead he just laid his head down on her shoulder and closed his eyes. Hopefully she wouldn't mind. And if she did he knew he'd feel her tense up.

He waited for a moment . . . no, she was fine.

Good.

With a happy sigh, he kissed her neck again . . . very good. And this time here with Emily in her bed, might be his new favorite place in the whole world. Because right now his life didn't seem like a complete crap storm. Right now he felt like he might get through this and someday be happy again. That was a good feeling.

And he'd stay here with her forever if she could just make it last.

A soft smile fell onto Emily's lips as Hotch settled onto her shoulder with his other arm wrapped tightly around her waist. His length was still inside of her. Not as hard as it had been before, but it was still nice. And when she squeezed her muscles lightly around him, everything was still so sensitive, that she could feel a fresh little tingle down below.

She was adding it to her list of favorite activities.

And it was the best way to settle down before she went to sleep. So she continued the faint twitching of her muscles around his member, as she slid one hand up and down Hotch's back. Then she moved her other arm up to begin running her fingers through his hair. She sighed.

This was a new kind of bliss. Something less physical, and more emotional. And as Hotch nuzzled her throat and murmured that she felt "so good," she finally understood why it was that he'd stopped the blowjob. It was because of this. Just being joined together.

He'd wanted to be inside of her.

And that was so sweet . . . her eyes started to sting . . . he, was sweet. And she had now officially decided that Haley was a complete and utter moron. Because she gave up _this_.

Him.

Yeah, Emily got that a real marriage had a lot more crap that went along with it. But still, you'd think that Haley would have found a way to work through the crap if she knew that it meant that she'd be keeping him. Because seriously . . . she kissed his cheek . . . Hotch was a keeper.

Though Emily realized then that if Haley hadn't tossed him out the way she had, then Emily herself would not have him lying on top of her right now. And that . . . oddly enough . . . seemed somewhat akin to an averted tragedy.

Not that she ever would have known what she was missing. And she still couldn't quite believe that she was lying in her bed at . . . she flicked her eyes over to the cable clock . . . one am, and she had been having mind blowing sex with her boss for the past five hours. But it wasn't just the sex . . . it was other stuff too.

It was _this_ stuff, the cuddling and the little tingles, and the soft kisses that he pressed to her throat. And she was terrified that THIS stuff, was going to be what got her into trouble when she had to say goodbye to him at the door tomorrow morning.

This stuff was going to leave a little fissure in her heart.

And this was certainly not the way that she'd thought her day would end up when they flew back from California that afternoon. In retrospect, it was a good thing that she'd slept on the plane.

Little had she known then how much she'd need the energy tonight.

And as she felt Hotch's respirations begin to even out against her neck, she squeezed him one more time, feeling that little vibration that made her so happy. Then she closed her eyes and tucked her head against his. She needed to sleep now too. Because in a few hours she'd need her energy back again. This time with him wasn't over quite yet.

She wouldn't let it be.

* * *

_A/N 2: So again, progression and learning things about one another through sex. And if you've read my other Girl 'verses, and I'm presuming if you got here, then probably have, :) you'll notice I always start first with 'favorite color.' I just did it in Horses and a little while back in Girl proper. It's such a basic question and it's been asked three different times in three different worlds under three completely different circumstances. In here it was kind of an act of desperation. Realizing that this little window they had was going to close and she needed to learn as much about him now before it was lost. That is the fun in doing their lives in different ways. How one simple question can mean so many different things._

_I only have one more of these sequentially lined up for posting, so I'll put it up later in the week. And I am going to make a concerted effort to get the next one after that done this week too. Because I do have a couple more done that take place early on in this world, but I'm missing a key scene I need to write before we can move to the other stuff._

_And FYI, I THINK I will be posting on Girl again later tomorrow. I figured mentally I should take a break from the tunnels for a little bit so I took some time today to start the next chapter over there. It's not done yet but more exists today than yesterday. Yesterday there was nothing! _

_Please let me know if you're enjoying this one so far :) You know I like to be different so I tried to do a very nontraditional 'one night stand.'_

_Next: "__**Wanting What You Can't Have**__"_


	4. Wanting What You Can't Have

**Author's Note**: The night is winding down, as is the sex. This is probably around 3 am.

* * *

_Early January_

**Wanting What You Can't Have**

Hotch woke with a start when Emily started whimpering in her sleep. From having a young child he'd become ingrained to wake up at the slightest noise. As he became aware of his surroundings he realized he was still lying on top of her. He pushed himself back, and then she started to twitch and he ran the back of his hand down her face as he said softly, "Emily wake up." Her whimper turned to cries that were causing him physical pain to hear and he became more insistent as he ran his hand down her arm.

"Emily I need you to wake up for me. Come on sweetheart, open your eyes."

Emily awoke with a jerk and for a moment she was absolutely terrified, but then she saw Hotch's concerned eyes watching her, and her own filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "did I wake you up?"

Squeezing her hand, he looked down at her sympathetically, "you were having a nightmare. Are you okay?"

Blinking away the moisture, she sat up, "yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

He looked at her for a second, "do you want to tell me about it?"

She looked back over to him, working her jaw as she debated the question to herself . . . she'd never told anyone her nightmares before. But he was clearly worried, and she knew that he could be trusted not to say anything to anyone.

So she cleared her throat.

"It's that Montana case, that uh . . ." she swallowed hard, "pear of anguish. I have nightmares about that sometimes."

Hotch's brow wrinkled in concern as he tipped his head, "Often?"

She shook her head, "no, not often, just random. I haven't figured out the trigger. And you can wipe that worried look off of your face because it's not having sex." She laid back down on her pillow with her back to him and he wrapped himself around her, whispering in her ear, "you're sure?"

With a nod she grabbed his hand and kissed it, "I'm sure. I haven't had sex in six months and I've had the damn nightmare at least once a month since that case," she squeezed his hand, "thanks for waking me up."

Hotch had actually woken her before she got to the worst of it.

Pulling her body more securely against him, Hotch wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck. They were silent for a moment and then he said, "I haven't had sex in six months either. Maybe that's why it's so good. You have to wait. I've never waited that long."

Emily chuckled, "I've waited for six months before, and trust me, on some of those occasions it was barely worth it to break the fast."

Hotch's male ego got a little boost at that, and he began to stroke his fingers along the length of her hip. She had a gorgeous body. Truly gorgeous. Trim and muscular but also curvy where women should have curves. He did not understand the appeal of those anorexicly thin women that were on the covers of the supermarket checkout magazines. They weren't attractive, they just looked sickly. Haley had a slimmer physique than Emily did but that was just body type. He knew it was wrong to compare but he couldn't help it. He'd had sex with the same woman for twenty-three years.

He thought about the number . . . God that was a _long_ time.

And though part of him missed her, part of him hated her now too. But mostly he was just sad that it couldn't be what it was before. Back when he had a family and not just a son.

Yeah, it was really Jack that he missed most. Haley he had initially, but as time passed, more than six months now, he started to see how big their problems were, and the hope of getting her back started to diminish. Resentment started to push aside the love. It was letting go of the dream of his family being whole again that had been the hardest. It wasn't until tonight that he finally extinguished that hope completely.

And now . . . now he didn't know what was going to happen. He did know though, that he wished very much that Emily wasn't completely off limits. He was in bed with a beautiful, kind, smart, funny woman.

Who wouldn't want that? Who wouldn't want that all the time?

But the ink wasn't even dry on his divorce papers so he knew he wasn't ready for a real relationship. Though, whatever their indescribable thing was, it wasn't that anyway. At least not now.

And he didn't see how they'd ever have a chance to try for more. Still though, they had tonight so he decided to tell her something he never would otherwise.

"Hey," he whispered in her ear, "do you want to hear something?"

Emily's eyes crinkled . . . wow, pillow talk from Hotch. She hadn't been expecting it. And with a soft smile at this new development, she snuggled against him. "Sure." Then she laughed, "but if you're going to tell me that you once went to clown college then maybe you'd better keep it to yourself. I don't think I'm ready for news like that," she snorted, "Sideshow Hotch."

Sliding his hand up her side Hotch tweaked her nipple, "you done?"

With a giggle she rolled over to face him, "yes, sorry."

Hotch ran his fingers through her hair, "I remember meeting you at your mother's house and thinking that you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen."

Even as she felt the blush bloom across her face, Emily gave Hotch a beatific smile, "really?"

Yep, he was so a keeper.

His eyes crinkled as he nodded, "yeah, you had on a red dress, and your hair was different, but you made quite an impression."

He hadn't been sure about telling her because he didn't want to do anything to make things weirder when they went back to their real lives. But seeing now how happy it had made her he was glad he'd said it.

"Thanks," she murmured as she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. Before she moved back, Hotch slid his tongue past her lips, running it along the roof of her mouth before pulling back with a smile. "You're welcome." And as Emily's eyes began to sting again, she buried her face in his neck and closed her eyes. She was trying to remember all the reasons why doing this again was a bad idea.

She couldn't come up with one.

* * *

_A/N 2: Seeing as in Girl I never really covered Hotch's real feelings about Haley at THIS stage in their marital breakup I thought this was a good point to do so. And I thought that was realistic. On the show it was clear that by the end he was just pissed off (the whole going off his rocker at the prison thing). And though this was a couple months earlier, he didn't get to that level of anger overnight._

_The red dress story is also another point in the main 'verse that wouldn't have come up for a long time. If you've read that one all the way through you know he doesn't tell her that story until The Hours. _

_**One MAJOR plot point I forgot to mention at the very beginning.**__ JJ does NOT get pregnant in this universe. By canon (and her due date) she wouldn't have been pregnant the night Hotch got his divorce papers. And I just find it unlikely in the extreme that two women on the same team, who are NOT in long term relationships, NOT having regular sex (JJ's seeing Will a couple times a month) and are NOT trying to get pregnant would both have birth control malfunctions like 2 weeks apart. It would be different if they were settling down, trying to start families, but in their respective scenarios it would just be ridiculous. On the plus side though, because I'm changing that whole angle, I MIGHT give this story a JJ/Rossi subplot. Because I've said in Girl that with canon having JJ with Will I wouldn't break them up. But here, without the baby to have accelerated their relationship, and forced them to make decisions, who's to say the long term thing would have worked out for them. It's actually very unlikely it would have, so I could break them up 'organically' without anybody having to be a bad guy. And I actually do like the JJ/Rossi ship, but they aren't "my ship" (it's weird how you get attached to a certain character or characters) so I just know I could never write a whole lengthy story around the other two. But if I kept it as a minor thing to roll in here, I think I could do it. It would be a way to get my feet wet with that ship. Any opinions either way on doing that?  
_

_The next one is a transitional chapter. The morning after, the transitional time that passes in their relationship, and then the discovery of their new situation. I actually did make myself work on this a little bit and I got most of the scene done that I had been stuck on so I don't think we're going to have the major lag in story continuation that I was fearing. Though I am going to stick with this 1 chapter a week thing so I don't feel major pressure (myself) to try and work on it regularly. I'm juggling a lot of eggs right now and I think we'll just go with the tortoise approach here of 'slow and steady' :)_

_FYI: I will be posting on Girl and Snake Pit later. Got some holiday stuff to do first though :)_

_Next: "__**The End, The Murky Middle & The Beginning"**_


	5. The End The Murky Middle & The Beginning

**Author's Note**: I was going to save this for a couple more days but I have nothing else ready to post so I figured what the hell. I'm still two chapters ahead on this story, and I think that's going to be my standing cushion.

As you can probably tell from the title, this is a transitional chapter. And it's short.

* * *

_Early January-Mid February_

**The End, The Murky Middle & The Beginning **

They woke before dawn and this time they made love.

Emily knew the difference . . . Hotch let her get on top. And he remembered everything that she liked, and everything that she didn't. He stroked his thumb along that spot on her hip, and his teeth along her nipple, and then he told her that she was beautiful and kind and that he was grateful that she was in his life and any man would be blessed to have her. And she was sad when it was done. So sad. He rolled her beneath him and kissed the tears off of her face as he whispered over and over. "Don't cry Emily, please don't cry."

And she tried . . . for him . . . she tried. But she couldn't help believing that she was about to lose something that she never had.

Afterward, they took a shower and he lovingly washed all traces of their night from her skin. Wincing when he saw the bruises, Hotch kissed them and told her he was sorry. And Emily told him that she wasn't. Then she dressed as he made coffee in a towel before she went out to the car to get his bag. They had breakfast and shared the paper. And then later, as she had promised, she kissed him goodbye at the door and they held hands until they got to the car. And only then did they pull away, both of them curling their fingers.

And when they got to the office, it wasn't weird or strange . . . but it was different. And if anyone noticed that they sat a little closer together or now went for coffee and lunch almost every day, even though they never had before, well, they didn't say anything.

Then one day, a couple weeks later, Hotch slipped and called her Emily in the middle of a police station. Nobody seemed to notice. And why would they? Really, it was just her name. But for him, it was something different. And he started to believe that maybe things really would be okay. Because he had somebody in his life again that cared about him, and for awhile he didn't think that would ever happen. And though his feelings . . . his attachment . . . had become stronger now than what had existed before, he also knew that she could only ever be a friend. But he had decided that was okay.

It was better than not having her in his life at all.

Then, six weeks after that night that changed everything, Emily slipped into his office and shut the door behind her. Hotch looked up, and she leaned back against the wood as she turned to face him.

"I'm late."

* * *

_A/N 2: And finally, we're off and running! _

_As I said from the beginning, there was a transitional aspect to the sex until we arrived at the end, 'making love.' I think it's fairly obvious they were pretty attached by morning and then they had another month of bonding and spending 'quality' time together before Em's little discovery._

_I didn't know what the hell to call this chapter until I was looking for new prompts and I discovered this episode title on the 'Judging Amy' list. It was actually in a slightly different order but all in all it was absolutely perfect!_

_And for crowd pleasing news, I can promise there will be postings on Girl tomorrow and the next day. All together now, yay!_

_Next: "__**OH CRAP!**__"_


	6. Oh Crap!

**Author's Note**: This picks up directly from Emily's line in the last chapter. I still have to calculate a due date for her but I found in my Girl A/N that I had put the night in the bar in early January so six weeks later would be around mid-February.

* * *

_Mid February_

**OH CRAP!**

Hotch's brow wrinkled as he looked down at his watch, "late for what? Work doesn't even start for another half hour."

Emily closed her eyes . . . her child was going to be an idiot. Then her eyes snapped back open as she looked back at Hotch and gestured down to her midsection in frustration, "_late_, late."

Come on Hotch, use that big brain of yours.

For a moment Hotch continued to stare at Emily in utter bewilderment, and then his eyes widened in realization . . . OH CRAP!

_Okay Aaron, keep it together. Maybe it's just normal late._

His eyes dropped down to her stomach he asked nervously, "_how_ late, late?"

Emily winced, "uh, two weeks."

He was going to freak. She'd freaked.

Stunned, Hotch jumped up yelling, "TWO WEEKS! YOU'RE **TWO** WEEKS LATE!"

SHIT! Well, there goes any hope that there was nothing to worry about!

Her eyes started to fill . . . yep freaked . . . and then her face crumpled.

"Don't yell at me. Things have been so crazy I just," a tear ran down her cheek, "lost track."

She slid down the door onto the carpet, crying softly.

How did this happen! How could she make such a mess of things?

Hotch flinched as he saw her tears and then he felt a stab in his chest.

He'd made her cry. What an asshole. Like she was any happier about this than he was.

Biting his lip he came around the desk, speaking as softly he could, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I was just surprised."

He was about to go over to her when he realized the blinds were still open. He quickly closed them before going over to hit the lock on the door and then he crouched down in front of her, tipping his head as he tried to catch her eyes, "don't cry. We'll figure this out. We don't even know for sure yet, right?"

Sniffling she wiped the back of her hand across her face, "no, I didn't take the test yet. It was just this morning when I was looking at the calendar that I realized how late I was."

Hotch looked at her for a second before he put his hand out, "come on up off the floor, you're going to get all dirty."

That was clearly the least of their concerns at the moment, but it was something to say. Something besides, 'how the fuck did this happen!'

He didn't really think that was going to be a particularly helpful outburst. It was also rather rhetorical. He knew quite well how it had happened. He was a very active participant in the happenings.

Emily took his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet and guide her over to the visitor's chair. She sat down, looking up at him for a moment and then she burst into tears again.

"I can't believe this happening! I'm always SO careful!"

Stomach twisting, Hotch looked down at her for a moment, and then he pushed aside all of the professional boundaries they'd built back up since last month. She was upset, and he couldn't bear to see her upset. He dropped down, pulling her against his chest as he rubbed her back murmuring against her hair, "shh, it's okay. We'll figure it out. Please don't cry Emily."

And then he flashed on the last time he'd said those words to her. That was perhaps the situation that had led to their current predicament.

But Emily couldn't stop her tears, this was such a mess. And for a few minutes she just cried on his shoulder, her only comfort the feeling of his arms around her again.

Regardless of the circumstances, it was really nice to get a hug from him again.

After everything that had happened that night, and the obvious potential for more, they knew the only way to build a friendship was to restrict any physical expressions of affection. They'd been afraid of blurring that shiny new friendship line into something more.

So though they had spent a lot of time together, a pat on the arm was about the extent of allowable physical contact. And hugs were a definite no, no.

Hugs were a slippery slope.

A slope that she was afraid she was about to start sliding down again so she suddenly pulled back, startling Hotch slightly when she took a gasping breath as she tried to stop crying.

"I um, was planning on taking the test tonight. I looked it up and if you get the right kind you don't necessarily have to do it first thing in the morning. And given how late I am the time of day is even less of a factor," she swallowed, "uh, I was wondering if you uh . . ."

Her eyes dropped down, she couldn't quite get the words out. She really couldn't quite believe she was about to ask him if he'd like to come over and watch her pee on a stick.

Hotch knew what she was asking and he rubbed her arm, "of course I'll come over," he tried for a supportive smile, "we'll find out together and then we'll decide what we're going to do, okay?"

She stared at him for a moment and then gave him a watery smile back, "okay."

At that moment she was thanking God that Hotch was such a good guy. Because as suck ass situations went, this pretty much was as bad as it got.

They were in the FBI and she might have just gotten knocked up by her boss.

God, that just _sounded_ SO bad! And not only did they have a chain of command issue, they also had basic anti fraternization rules. Any way you cut it they were screwed. And yet, aside from the initial yelling, which she realized now was understandable, she'd done some yelling of her own at home, he was being really great about the whole thing.

Hotch stared at her, now very much wishing he could just give both of them the day off and go get this test over with. But unfortunately he had two meetings that he just couldn't cancel, not to mention a lecture over at the Academy.

Though he realized it was probably for the best that they wait anyway.

If she was that late odds are this was a done deal and the test was just a formality. But at least if they waited until later they could take the day and think about their options, decide what they wanted to do individually, and then talk about it tonight after they knew for sure.

It was a hell of a lot better than taking the test now and then talking tonight. He'd be going nuts. Well, more so.

Taking note of the after effects of Emily's two crying jags, he reached back and grabbed a tissue out of the box. And then he started cleaning up her streaked mascara. It wasn't until he slid his hand down to cup her jaw with the palm of his hand that he took note of what an intimate gesture that was. He almost stopped and then said screw it.

As intimate gestures went this was clearly on the mild side of his previous activities with her.

Besides, what he was doing was for practical purposes, he didn't have a mirror in here. And she sure as hell couldn't go back out to the bullpen with mascara running down her face. It was still early but there a few people already working. If she came out of his office crying people were going to wonder why.

And this was their business, nobody else's.

Not wanting to abrade the sensitive skin under eye, rather than the tissue, he used his thumb to run along the edges. She looked so sad, it was breaking his heart. And he wished there was something he could do for her now that would reassure her. But this definitely wasn't the time to get into anything. He needed to think, they both needed to think. So instead of doing what he wanted to do, hold her, he pulled away as he said softly.

"All clean."

She gave him a sad smile, "thanks."

Emily stood up, staring at her boots for a moment before she looked at Hotch, clearing her throat, "do you still want to get lunch today?"

They'd been getting lunch together almost every day since that night. She wasn't sure if they should meet today or not, maybe they needed some time apart. But if they didn't she wasn't sure what she was going to do with herself. She definitely didn't want to hang out with anyone else. And she was already going to have ten hours to think about what a mess she'd made and how she was going to handle it, so she was going to need to take a break.

Hotch winced slightly, "uh, I would but I'm doing that lecture today, remember?"

Figures that would be today, the worst possible day to look like he was avoiding her. And then when he saw her face fall and he felt like an even bigger jerk. He squeezed her hand, "but uh, if you want to wait and go later I'll probably be done by two."

She nodded, "yeah, um, if it's okay with you, I'd like that," she sighed, "it's just that I'm going to be going nuts all day anyway thinking and if I'm not going with you then somebody else will probably ask me and God knows I don't feel like being sociable," she blushed slightly, "well, not that spending time with you means I can be rude, I just mean . . ."

Hotch cut her off with a little smile, "I know what you meant. It's okay. And yes, I really do want to go," he gave her hard look, "no matter what the test says, and no matter what we decide, I don't want you to think that I'm going to start avoiding you, okay?"

Though he had no idea what they were going to do about this, he couldn't imagine not having Emily in his life anymore.

She bit her lip, "okay," and then her eyes started to fill again, "because I would really hate that."

He shook his head, "and you don't have to worry about it because it's not going to happen. We're in this together."

She stared at him for a moment before blinking away the tears as she nodded, "okay."

As she turned to go, Hotch realized there was one thing he could for her. Just before she put her hand on the door he called out.

"I'm leaving for a meeting in twenty minutes and I probably won't be back until we meet for lunch so if you want to work up here today you can," he tipped his head, "just tell the guys you have a migraine and I said it was okay."

Her face brightened slightly, "that would be great, thanks. I've been dreading the idea of sitting down there all day. Because they're going to know something's wrong and they'll start asking me questions."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly, at least he was able to do something for her.

"Okay then, just get your stuff and I'll stop by when I'm leaving so you'll know when I'm gone."

She nodded, "okay," she turned the knob and then whispered, "you want it open or closed?"

His brow went up ironically, "uh, closed please."

She huffed slightly, "right."

Emily slipped out, clicking the door shut behind her. Hotch stared into that corner for almost a minute before he walked over and dropped down into his chair. A moment later his head dropped down onto his desk.

CRAP!

* * *

_A/N 2: Yes, I know you're ideally supposed to take the test in the morning. But according to the National Institutes of Health (who actually has a page on this!) the later you are the less it matters. So like a few days late, you definitely need to do it in the morning for any type of accuracy, a couple weeks late, the hormones in your system are much more concentrated so the time of day is less relevant. I learned something new!_

_Obviously they are going to keep the kid, and I have no children, so anyone who has been pregnant, if you have any first, second, third trimester tips to pass along, that'd be great. I can research, and I know general things from family/friends but I like to mix things together, different perspectives. So if you have particular symptoms or things that made you nauseous or that you craved. Books that you read, or when you started to show or couldn't wear your own clothes anymore. Like what month do you start going to the bathroom 50 times a day? When do you start buying baby stuff? That's all helpful. _

_We'll pick up with them later getting the test and then taking it. Then we'll start skipping ahead. Clearly this is a story that's going to cover another 7 to 8 months (really need to calculate that due date!) so once I get them up and running, we'll hit markers for them. I'm also running this parallel with events in canon. Obviously I can't stay in canon, but where there is an episode that I can borrow from I will, but most likely things would go differently. Like Hotch will get blown up, but I don't know if I'd send Emily into the compound in Colorado. She'll probably be showing by then, would Cyrus actually beat up a pregnant woman? And obviously the guys would have made very different decisions on how to handle things if she had been pregnant. So maybe I will send her in just to make things interesting._

_Next: "__**Things Change . . .**__"_


	7. Things Change

**Author's Note**: This one is done but the next Girl is not finished yet and I have a thousand things to do over the next nine hours so I doubt it will get done today. Hopefully this will tide you over :)

And it's long. YAY!

**Side note**: Thank you everyone for the pregnancy websites and suggestions! They were great. And I'm going to try and fold in as many of the real experiences as I can. It's better writing when I have some real anecdotal symptoms to give her than just picking generic stuff. It makes her more 'real.' Though Emily lives in my brain as a real person anyway :) If you think of anything else, big or small, please do pass them along.

* * *

_Mid February_

**Things Change . . .**

At lunch they drove two counties south and bought a pregnancy test at a mom and pop drug store in a small town in the middle of Virginia. There was no possibility of anyone there knowing them. And the woman behind the counter actually gave them a big smile as she rang Hotch up, telling them good luck. He heard Emily moan slightly beside him and he reached down to grab a milky way, "we'll take this too."

Fortunately the drive took most of their free hour so they didn't have to fill it up with any pressure to talk. Hotch had already given it a lot of thought, and he was sure that he knew what he wanted. But he didn't know what she wanted. And they certainly couldn't get into that on the way back to the office. They were leaving at five on the dot so just a couple more hours and they could go to her place. And then all the speculation would be put to rest and decisions would be made.

He shot a glance over to her . . . he just hoped they were on the same page. Or at least that they could get to the same page.

Emily saw Hotch eyeing her and she looked over at him as he looked back to the road. There were a million things she wanted to say. That she wanted to ask.

But this wasn't the time.

So instead she reached down into the plain white paper bag, pulling out the candy bar he'd bought her, and she turned to him.

"Do you want a bite?"

/*/*/*/*/*/*/

After work they drove to Emily's in silence. At that point the waiting was almost unbearable and they both knew they were more than a little on edge. Not wanting to argue they had come to the separate conclusion that it would just be best not to say anything at all.

They walked into her condo and Emily took his coat and hung it with hers in the closet. Hotch had been back to her home once since last month. Last Wednesday they had pizza and watched a movie. They wanted to see if they had moved far enough from that night to do things like that.

Just spend time together alone without anyone else around.

She sat on the couch, he sat in the chair. It was a little odd . . . there was an elephant in the room. He remembered everything they had done in that part of the house. But oddly, the one thing he remembered with perfect clarity was sitting on the couch with her in his lap as they watched TV. And that was all he wanted to do when he was there . . . go over and pull her into his lap again. And he would wrap his arms around her and be . . . happy. For a few minutes he could just be happy again.

But he couldn't do that.

When he was leaving he gave her a sad smile, "maybe we can try again next month." And she'd looked away as she said softly, "yeah, maybe next month."

But now here he was, back already. If only he'd known last week what they knew now. Then his eyes widened slightly as he remembered that night . . . she'd been drinking wine.

He shook his head, a little glass of wine wasn't going to hurt the baby. It wasn't until just the last twenty years that the advisories had come out about women drinking during pregnancy. And the majority of their mothers had the occasional cocktail and they'd all turned out fine. You had to drink a hell of a lot to get to birth defects or fetal alcohol syndrome. And Emily wasn't a drunk.

They got to the foot of her stairs and she turned to look at him and he took her hand, squeezing her fingers.

"Do you want to wait a couple minutes?"

She swallowed, "let's just get it over with."

The waiting was killing her. But once they knew for sure, then her life was probably going to change irrevocably. Possibly blow up in her face. It all depended on what the result was . . . and what Hotch said.

With Hotch still holding Emily's hand, they walked up her stairs and went into her bedroom. As he turned that corner again he was assaulted with memories.

And again, the ones that haunted him weren't what he would have expected.

He walked her over to the bathroom before he took the box out of the paper bag, handing it to her, "I'll wait here for a minute."

Her fingers brushed his as she accepted the box with a sigh, "okay, I'll just be a second."

Just before she shut the door she looked back at him and he gave her a little smile as he whispered, "it'll be okay."

As the door clicked shut he sat down on the bed, bending over to put his head between his knees. He felt like he had just been transported back in time to the days when men were kept in the waiting room. Granted, he only had to wait like a minute until she called him in, but still.

But after a minute he still hadn't heard her call for him and he was getting a little worried . . . and warm. He was always hot and her heat had come on.

Slipping off his suit jacket, he dropped it on the bed before he turned back to the door. He was just about to knock to see if she was okay when he heard the toilet flush and he pulled his hand back.

He heard the water run and then a few seconds later the door opened and she stepped back, "uh, it's gonna be a couple minutes."

"Right," he nodded, and then stood there for a moment before walking past her into the bathroom.

For some reason it seemed like they should wait in there. Like somehow it would take longer if they went and did something to pass the time.

Emily walked over and sat down on the corner of the tub. Hotch glanced at the stick sitting on the counter, rolling his eyes a second later . . . obviously he couldn't tell anything. So he started pacing back and forth. And then he realized that was probably not helping her anxiety level and he went over to lean against the wall.

They waited in silence for another minute and then Emily cleared her throat.

"I uh, think I know how this happened."

Hotch raised his eyebrow and she shook her head, "no, I mean if it's positive, I think I know why the pill didn't work," she bit her lip, "I uh, had an ear infection just after New Year's. And the doctor put me on antibiotics. They were the kind that releases into your system after you stop taking the pills. So they were still in my system that night," her voice faded, "I had forgotten all about them. If I'd remembered then I would have said we needed a condom," she whispered, "I'm sorry."

God, he was going to hate her now. This was all her fault. Yeah, they had both participated in the sex but she'd told him they were fine. And they weren't. He'd trusted her . . . her eyes started to burn . . . and she'd let him down.

Surprised, Hotch stared at her for a moment, he wasn't actually expecting that. A real reason. He'd just assumed it was that random percentage. But yeah, antibiotics would pretty much negate the pill completely. Closing his eyes he shook his head . . . it didn't matter how they got here. Here was where they were. He looked back over to Emily, seeing the guilt on her face.

"It doesn't matter. Just forget it. It could have been anything. We could have used a condom too and we'd still be here right now. These things just happen Prentiss."

Even though she was relieved he didn't seem to be upset with her, a chill still went through her body at his words, and she gave him a sharp look.

"Could you please not Prentiss me right now _sir_. I might be carrying your child and it makes me feel kind of . . . cold."

The moment the words were out of her mouth she knew that she'd just snapped at him for no good reason at all. And he didn't deserve it. He hadn't meant anything by it. He'd been really great all day. Amazing actually given the circumstances. It's just that when he said that, she'd felt so . . . alone. And for that second she saw her future, one where he left her to deal with this by herself . . . and she got pissed at him for something he didn't even do.

Wincing, he nodded, "I'm sorry. I didn't . . . I'm sorry. Just habit."

When they weren't in the field he usually called her Emily now, but sometimes when he was stressed, he just defaulted back to Prentiss. And he was a little stressed at the moment.

He looked at her imploringly, "but as long as you brought that up, also, _please,_ no more sirs. Not even joking. Just not tonight. As you said, you might be carrying my child and you calling me 'sir' makes me feel like a real . . ." his voice faded as he looked away, "sleaze."

Now feeling like a complete jerk for deliberately baiting him, Emily bit her lip as she looked up at him sadly.

"Aaron, please don't think like that. I was just being bitchy because I'm stressed. And that's not fair to you," she shook her head firmly, "_you_ didn't do anything wrong. I'm an adult and I made a very conscious decision of my own free will. You didn't pressure me, if anything I approached you. So I'm sorry I made you feel . . . uncomfortable."

Trying to make amends she patted the space next to her, "come sit down and wait with me."

Hotch crossed over and sat down next her on the bathtub. She reached out, grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers. Looking down at their fingers joined together, he felt an ache in his chest.

He looked away.

Another few minutes passed and then Emily checked her watch, murmuring, "show time" before reaching over to the counter to pick up the stick, holding it up between them so they could find out at the same time.

Two solid blue lines.

Hotch's eyes widened. This was really happening.

Being careful to keep any expression off his face he turned to her, "so what do you want to do?"

He'd had the whole day to think about it and he had decided that he wanted to keep it. He wanted to keep it so badly. No matter how much of a mess this was going to be he knew that this was a baby he'd made with Emily. It was part of her, and he couldn't imagine aborting it.

But it was ultimately her decision, and he wasn't going to pressure her, or make her feel guilty. This was hard enough for her without him piling on and making it worse.

Biting her lip, she looked at him, and then she looked back down to the stick as she said quietly, "I want to keep it." Then she repeated it more firmly, "I want to keep it." She looked back up at him, "just on principle I do but also, I'm older now, and this is maybe my last chance."

Her gaze fell back to the floor as she said softly, "I uh, had an abortion when I was fifteen," she paused, "I was kind of messed up then and some stuff had happened to me earlier that year and I was . . ." she felt her eyes sting, "well, I didn't really have a lot of self esteem. And that was a way to get people to like me . . ."

She trailed off, realizing that she'd never told anyone that story before. Then she remembered their night together, and her belief that her secrets would be safe with him. Over the subsequent weeks, they'd gotten closer, and she'd come to see that her initial instinct was true. She'd told him some of her secrets over that time, but this was a big one. The biggest actually, which made it even harder to say the next thing to him. Because she'd just exposed herself completely and would be devastated if he pulled back after she had said what she did just a moment ago.

Hotch started to rub her back, remembering the scar on her leg and knowing instantly that whatever the 'stuff' was, that it was connected to that mark.

Sniffling, Emily turned to him, "I know you said earlier that we'd deal with this together. But I know that was sort of a theoretical thing, and uh, this is going to be really messy and . . . um, if you don't . . . you know, want to be involved that's, uh, okay."

It actually caused her physical pain to think he might leave her alone. But she wanted to give him the out now. Now, before they moved on to other things. Made other decisions. When this got out it would be the end of his career. Full stop. Without a doubt. And once that really sunk in, the full implications, he might decide maybe the cost was too high. And part of her understood that, and that's why she wanted him to be really sure that this was what he wanted.

Hotch yanked his hand back from her like it was scalded. Terribly hurt by her words, his eyes began to water as looked at her in disbelief.

"You think that little of me? That I'd abandon you . . . that I'd abandon my child." He looked away, "God Emily . . . that's just . . ."

He didn't know how to finish that thought. What kind of scumbag did she think he was?

Realizing how badly she'd just hurt him, Emily felt a stab in her chest. She dropped the stick and jumped over to his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she tried desperately to fix it.

"No! God no! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That's not what I meant. Of course I don't think that."

She kissed the top of his head and then leaned back so she could see his face. He still looked hurt, and that made her feel awful, but at least it did appear he was listening to her. She put her hand on his cheek, "it's just that I didn't want you to feel pressured. We've become close, but we aren't in a romantic relationship. We just had one really amazing night. I told you I was on the pill but I forgot I'd been taking those antibiotics. So I guess I kind of feel like this is my . . . fault. And I don't want to ruin your career for my mistake." Her eyes started to burn as she stroked her fingers along his jaw, "but I'm sorry that came out the way it did. I didn't mean to hurt," she shook her head as the tears started to pool, "I would never want to hurt you."

Mollified by her apology, and unable to bear her crying, Hotch blinked away his own tears as he moved his hand to the small of her back. He slowly exhaled.

"I had already decided that I want this baby too," he nodded to himself, "I really do." He paused for a moment as he watched the relief spread over her face before shaking his head, "and there's no _fault_ Emily. You need to forget about that word. It doesn't apply here. It's an equal sharing of responsibility, then," he gave her a pointed look, "and now, okay?"

Thrilled that he wanted to keep the baby, and that he had forgiven her, Emily gave him a watery smile as she pressed her hand to his cheek, "okay."

Now that the moment had passed, Hotch became consciously aware that he had Emily in his arms for the first time in over a month. And it wasn't until then that he realized just how much he'd really missed holding her. Every time those feelings crept up, like last Wednesday, he'd shoved them down again. It hadn't only been the sex that night, he just liked being near her. The time they spent together since then, talking, laughing, sharing stories about their life, it was great. But it wasn't the same as having her wrapped up in his arms as they did those same things. That night she had made him truly happy. He missed it. He missed being happy.

He missed her.

But he just kept telling himself to get over it. That it wasn't going to happen. But now he was wondering if maybe this wasn't just an accident, maybe the pill failed for a reason. And today while he was deciding what he wanted to do about the baby, he'd also been deciding what he wanted to do about Emily. Because events had now transpired that were going to move him past the point of pretending he didn't care about her.

That he didn't care about her a lot.

He didn't know if he should bring it up now though. So much was happening already, he didn't want to overload her.

Then she shifted in his arms, her sweater riding up slightly and his thumb brushed over her bare skin. That made his decision for him. He cleared his throat and she looked at him.

"Emily, I don't know if this is the right time to bring this up but . . . I had a lot of time to think today. And I thought about a lot of things. What happened last month, what's happened since, and what I'd like to see happen in the future." He stopped, mustering his courage as she looked at him quizzically. And he decided to just plow into it, "I really like you . . ." he brought his hand up, tracing his index finger over her lips as he said softly, "I really like you a lot. And that was something I started to realize last month, it's not just a reaction to what's happening now. For obvious reasons that night was supposed to be one time only. But, now that things have changed, those reasons for that decision are rather moot. And I was wondering if maybe you might want to talk about that, and see if that's something maybe we could revisit."

He was trying to make his feelings clear but not dumping too much on her so she wouldn't feel awkward in case she didn't want to pursue anything romantically. Either way, with this baby, the parameters of their relationship were changing dramatically, and any concerns about their supervisor/subordinate relationship were already being tossed out the window. And that was really his biggest hurdle to overcome in the past.

His career was going to implode either way. And because of that, he didn't see any reason not to take a shot.

Reaching up, Emily traced her own finger over the curve of his lips as she responded with a soft smile, "you weren't sure if _this_ was the right time to tell the future mother of your child that you have feelings for her?"

Blushing slightly Hotch looked at her for a second before resting his head on her shoulder, "well when you say it like that, I sound kind of like an idiot."

Leaning down she kissed his temple as she gently teased, "kind of. But even so, I came to the conclusion some time ago that I'd like it very much if you were my idiot," her lip quirked up, "so to speak."

Hotch huffed against her shoulder before he brought his head up and looked at her hopefully, "you would?"

Her eyes glistened. "Yes . . . I have feelings for you too, and they've been getting stronger. And I've been ignoring them, hoping they'd go away. But that night, I wanted so much to be able to continue spending time with you, trying to see if we could maybe build something," she smiled, "and I think we have this past month. I mean it's a friendship but, the best relationships start as friends anyway." Hotch nodded his agreement as she ran her fingers along his jaw, "I think if we keep building on that, we might have a real shot to make this work. And I know these are not ideal circumstances to start a relationship. There's going to be so much more pressure. But," a tear ran down her cheek as her voice broke, "I'm really glad this is your baby. You're sweet, and funny and kind. You're a good man. And I couldn't think of a better father for my child."

Hotch felt his own eyes begin to burn. And for the first time in over a month he realized he was allowed to kiss her. He leaned up and gently pressed his lips to hers, holding them there for just a few seconds.

It was just as good as he remembered.

As he pulled away he whispered, "you're going to be a great mother."

She really would be. She was a kind person with a good heart. And as he looked at her now, the brightness of her smile made his chest hurt.

Leaning back slightly, Emily wiped the corner of her eye, "thanks. I really hope so. I want to be a good mom."

He smiled, "I know you will be."

Her eyes crinkled and then she reached up to touch her mouth . . . he'd kissed her.

It was sweet, and wonderful, and she didn't realize until it was happening how much she'd missed his kisses. That night he was gentle and affectionate and then the next day they had to go back to the majority of their time being professional and distant. The friendship they'd built was great . . . but it wasn't the same. It wasn't what she wanted. But now she knew that he had feelings for her, the same as she did for him.

Maybe they really could make this work. Even if their professional lives were going to be a mess, maybe they could salvage some personal happiness.

Hotch laid his head against her shoulder again, for the first time in a long time feeling a warmth in his chest . . . happiness.

His eyes wandered down to the stick lying on the floor. Emily followed his gaze and then tipped her head against his as she said in wonderment.

"It's a baby. We're really having a baby."

All day long all she'd done was worry that the test would be positive. That she'd screwed things up. But the moment she'd seen those lines, that regret was gone. This was a gift. And the fact that Hotch wanted to be with her, wanted to try to make this work, that was the best possible outcome. One she hadn't even allowed herself to hope for today.

Hotch tightened his arms around her, "yep, we're having a baby."

He felt his heart swell as the realization hit him . . . he was going to be somebody's daddy again. Maybe a little girl this time. His eyes crinkled, one that looked like Emily. And he couldn't help but think back to the moment he found out they were having Jack. He wasn't there when Hayley took the test, she told him later. And though he never said anything to her, he was sorry he'd missed sharing that moment of finding out together that they were going to be parents. But at least he had that with Emily. And even though this was going to be a hard road, there were a lot of things to figure out, what to do about work being a huge one, it still didn't diminish the happiness he was feeling. Because though he couldn't go so far as to say that he was in love with Emily right now, he knew that a little further down the road that he could be . . . he could be very easily.

Eyes sparkling Emily turned to him, "I just thought of something. We are going to have such a good looking kid! I mean I know that it being healthy is the most important thing, but hey, come on," she grinned, "having a pretty baby is major bonus."

Hotch's lips twitched, "that's true. A pretty baby is a major bonus."

She laughed and he kissed her neck to hide his smile.

Yeah, he could definitely see himself falling in love with her.

* * *

_A/N 2: And, again, hopefully I pulled off the hat trick. Making it logical that at THIS stage in their relationship they would be ready to move into couplehood even though in Girl we're still months away. I think I said before, this one is the only world we're I get to build them as a more 'typical' romantic relationship. Not that it's typical to get pregnant and THEN decide you want to date, but, it's not like they didn't know each other before and had just met in a bar. They had a 'relationship' and the one night amped up all of these feelings that they wouldn't have known about otherwise. _

_This chapter had a fair amount of angsty in the beginning and I actually wish I could have dragged that out another chapter. The "longing to be together but they can't" thing. I wanted to drag it, not to be sadistic, but just to add another layer, but, I really couldn't. Because, this WAS the time to tell her that he had feelings for her. Huge, life altering decisions were being made and that was definitely a relevant piece of data to factor into the discussion. And I could have dragged the angst by making her 'wary' of his change in feelings for another chapter or so. But I'd already set it up that it was clear, on both sides, that they knew there was the possibility for something between them. So it wouldn't have completely come out of left field for her. She wouldn't have been suspicious that it was just about the baby and not her. Plus, you know I like to go nonconventional, and I'm fairly sure nobody has ever written them before in quite this same 'reactionary mode' to the surprise pregnancy. Actually choosing to plunge head on into a huge messy situation because they think that maybe they have a chance to be happy together. But we still have the stuff at work to inject some angst into the proceedings. It definitely won't be easy. _

_And, speaking of angst, I am pretty sure now I will be sending Emily into the compound! Not sure what I'm going to do with her when I get here there, (that exact beating she took in canon probably would not be conducive to keeping a healthy fetus) but no matter what happens, the possibilities for huge angsting on Hotch's part were just too good to pass up!_

_Next: "__**First Day on a Brand New Planet**__"_


	8. Getting Our Act Together

**Author's Note**: Yay, the site's working! If you haven't been aware, it's been down since early Saturday morning. Which sucks because I actually had chapters for this and Girl ready to go up. Like the only things I had done. So I'm doing them both now just in case they crash again.

Originally I was planning on posting a different chapter next. The morning after. But then I realized it would add more depth to their relationship if we stayed with them for the rest of the night. So I just wrote this chapter super quick yesterday morning. It came to me really fast so I figured I should scribble it down while it was fresh in my head. This is basically a direct continuation from the moments after we left them in the bathroom.

* * *

_Mid February_

**Getting Our Act Together**

They left the bathroom hand in hand. Emily simply enjoying having the freedom to touch him like that again. Like she did that first night. So many times over the past month she'd wanted to reach out to him. But she'd always pulled back, afraid that if she got too used to the personal contact it would make things even harder. It was part of that slippery slope.

But now . . . she smiled as he ran his thumb along the back of her hand . . . he was hers and she could touch him as much as she wanted to. Well, provided nobody else was around. But she wasn't thinking about that right now. She wanted to just be happy for a few minutes about the baby.

She was having a wonderful sweet little baby with this wonderful sweet man at her side. This morning that news had filled her with panic and dread. And now, this had turned into one of the best days of her life. But she had wasted most of the day worrying and she didn't want to taint any of the time left with depressing thoughts about the restrictions on their potential happiness.

Instead she wanted to celebrate.

So as they reached the bottom of the stairs she turned to Hotch, "would you be okay with getting Chinese food for dinner?" she added somewhat sheepishly, " I just thought it would be a nice commemoration of the uh . . . events, that brought us to where we are now."

It wasn't really an anniversary, but it did seem like they should do something special. And given their limited personal time together they didn't really have much in the way of traditions to call upon. Really they had Chinese food, Mythbusters and hot sex to choose from. But neither the hot sex nor the Mythbusters was exactly what she had in mind in terms of a 'nice' celebration of the new little life growing inside of her. Not that she was in any way opposed to having celebratory sex later, just not now.

Hotch smiled . . . she was so cute when she was nervous. That was a side of her he didn't see much at work. She always projected confidence and self assurance. But that night they'd spent together, and in this subsequent month they'd been talking, he'd started to see that in her personal life that wasn't always the case. And she was right, they should do something to acknowledge the day that changed everything.

Pulling her into a hug, he rubbed his hand down her back as he whispered in her ear, "that sounds really nice sweetheart."

He realized then that was the first time he'd called her sweetheart since it had slipped out when they were having sex. That time was an accident given their activities, but this time it came from a place of genuine emotion. And the first time Emily didn't seem to notice, but this time she clearly did. She leaned back, giving him a watery smile as she ran her fingers along his jaw, whispering, "I like the sound of that."

No man had ever called her sweetheart before. Usually she was just 'baby.' Not that she was opposed to that term of endearment in principle, but she was never that taken with it for use with a lover. It was a term she used with children, somebody she had maternal feelings towards. But sweetheart was . . . nice. It was special.

Feeling his own eyes burn he tucked her hair behind her ear as he responded in the same tone, "me too."

Even if he wasn't head over heels in love yet, Emily was still his girl now. And though he couldn't exactly scream that from the rooftops, he certainly could express his affection to her in private. It was definitely going to be a challenge when they went back to work. The divider they'd drawn after their first night, that wasn't going to be there anymore. That line in the sand now had waves lapping against it, washing it away.

They were going to have to figure out a new world order.

As though she could read his mind Emily smiled at him, "I guess we have to talk now."

He kissed the top of her head, "yes we do. Why don't you put in the order and then we can get started while we wait for the food."

Emily nodded, "sounds good," and then she squeezed his hand before reluctantly letting go so that she could make the call. As she went over to pick up the phone she realized that was the first time they had lost contact since she'd climbed into his lap upstairs.

Hotch walked into the living room, dropping down on the couch as he rubbed his hands down his face. This had already been a long day, but he wanted to talk tonight and get it over with. Because whatever decisions they came to about work, about the baby or about their relationship, he wanted to make sure that they came to them together. His marriage had fallen apart because he didn't communicate with Haley. He wasn't going to make that mistake again. This was his second chance to have a family and God knows he couldn't afford to screw it up . . . because he knew . . . he wouldn't get this opportunity again.

This was a gift.

So the sooner they ironed out the details, the sooner they could settle into a routine. Build a real relationship. Because that was the end game. That's what he had decided today that he wanted . . . Emily and the baby.

He was still amazed at the idea of it, he was having another child. After the separation he assumed that he was done having children. Even if he and Haley had gotten back together he would have known that having another child with her would have been a bad idea.

If she left him once, she could do it again.

And he certainly never anticipated having another serious relationship with any woman. The whole idea of dating was abhorrent to him. So actually, if he and Emily hadn't come together in the way that they had that night, he most likely would have been alone for, well . . . a very long time.

He looked up as Emily walked into the living room . . . sometimes things change in the most unexpected ways though.

With a sigh she sat down on the cushion to his left, pulling her feet up under her. And then he once again remembered that night last week. And even though she was right next to him, her arm was brushing against his . . . still his heart ached with sadness.

If not for her getting that ear infection, he wouldn't be here right now. For the next God knows how many months . . . or years . . . he would have been walking around with this emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

Wanting to touch her . . . wanting to be with her . . . and always knowing that she was out of reach.

But now, because a bottle of Zithromax had nullified their birth control, she was right here with him. He could smell her perfume and her shampoo, and suddenly the sadness was pushed aside by something else. Something that made him reach for her, pulling her into his lap and hugging her close. Then he kissed her temple and said softly, "no matter what happens, I want you to know, I really am happy about the baby."

At first some little part of his brain was worried that maybe he was just happy about getting that connection with Emily. And that he was only making the best of things when it came to the baby. But now that they were away from that initial moment, he could feel that same happiness and anticipation he'd had after he found out about Jack.

This was his child. And be it a son or a daughter, he knew that he would love this one just as much as he did the son he already had.

Emily leaned into his side, playing with his fingers, "me too. I meant everything I said upstairs," she looked up at him, "not to mention, the baby brought you back to me," she grinned, "the kid's getting a gold plated binky for that one."

Chuckling Hotch kissed her temple again. This is what he had missed after that night. And if not for this baby, this is what he probably never would have had again. Emily was right, the kid definitely deserved something for bringing his parents back together.

Parents . . . he was going to be a parent with Emily. All the more reason he desperately wanted to make this thing between them work. Make it permanent. Because the last thing he wanted was to be a part-time dad to another kid. He honestly didn't know if his heart could handle that. Having another child that he was only allowed to see for a few hours a week.

People who hadn't been through a divorce could never understand that pain. You miss them all the time. You miss everything. And you try so hard to cram as much living into the little bit of time you're allowed with them. Just the fact that somebody can deny you access to your baby is unbelievable. It's your child and the courts say that you can't see him unless his mother says it's okay.

As though Jack wasn't just as much his as hers.

And losing Jack had almost killed him. That depression, those months of misery as he tried to navigate his shitty world without being able to see his boy . . . he couldn't imagine doing that again.

Not that he would ever pretend to have feelings for Emily just to keep access to his child. That was unfair to everyone.

No . . . he tipped his head against hers . . . his feelings for her now were definitely genuine. They'd been growing since that first night, long before he'd known she was pregnant. But the desire not to have his heart broken again was definitely an additional motivator to work through the hard stuff. Because now he truly understood what it was that he would be losing.

Everything.

So with that thought in mind he started them on the path together. They began by discussing work. Putting rules in place for physical interaction on duty, discussing generally how long they would wait before they told the team and when they had to tell Strauss. They tabled contingency plans for Hotch's career imploding to a later date. They had a few months before that one was an issue and they needed to think about how best to handle it.

Lastly they discussed how long she could be in the field before it would become a hazard.

That one was hard for Hotch. Just the idea of her staying in the field at all. Though he knew intellectually that there was nothing preventing her from working, there were pregnant women working in law enforcement all over the world . . . but he just wanted to keep her safe.

But he knew he was going to have to separate his 'future mother of his child' feelings from his professional ones. Though there was always a risk of injury, rarely was anyone seriously hurt on duty. And with the exception of Morgan's propensity to tackle anything that moves, most of them had minimal hand to hand combat with an UNSUB. And that was because the members of the team were all well trained and well armed. So he was going to have to trust in those factors, and the law of averages, that everything would be okay.

He was comforted by the fact that he only had to get through the first trimester. Because they did agree that she would start cutting back field work in her fourth month with the goal of having her completely out of situations involving bulletproof vests by the time she was showing and they had to tell the team.

Her pregnancy was going to be a distraction, and God knows they couldn't be kicking down doors if Dave or Derek were worried about her getting hurt. And both Emily and Hotch knew that they would be worried. They were a family and they cared personally about one another.

This information was going to be hard enough for Hotch to deal with alone for the first few months. He would never compromise the safety of the rest of the team by asking them to carry the same burden. Emily did agree though that if Hotch found it too hard separating his personal concerns for her safety that they would come up with some plausible reason for her to go on light duty. Still do interviews but not serve any warrants.

That one was a no brainer for Emily. The last thing she wanted was for Hotch, or anyone else, to get hurt or killed because he was worried about her and the baby and not doing his job.

She would never forgive herself.

And that's when she realized that the anti-fraternization rules really did exist for a good reason. As much as you cared about your partner or your team, it wasn't the same as taking your . . . for lack of a better word . . . family, out in the field with you. Your worries would be tenfold.

They had just finished discussing their work concerns when the bell rang and Hotch's lips twitched.

Billy.

Emily shot Hotch a look, "be nice."

The poor kid had barely made eye contact with her since that night.

Feigning a look of innocence he asked in astonishment, "when am I not nice?"

Mouth quivering Emily pushed herself off his lap, standing up and looking down at him, "how about last week when you made that gas station attendant cry?"

Scowling, Hotch also stood, slipping his arm around her waist, "please. The kid was a jackass. He was smoking WHILE he filled the tank. He was lucky I didn't arrest him."

Emily huffed as they separated in the hall, she went into the kitchen to get plates, and Hotch went to get the food. At least this time when he opened the door he was fully dressed. Billy blinked once at seeing him again but wisely said nothing besides, "$26.50."

Hotch figured he'd more than made his point about kicking his ass the last time they met so he did make an effort to not scare the crap out of the kid again. So to that end his eyes crinkled as he counted out the money and then gave him a ten dollar tip, "have a good night Billy."

Billy looked at him suspiciously for a moment and then nodded cautiously, "thanks mister . . ."

Hotch's lip quirked up, "Hotchner."

Tipping his head, Billy thawed slightly as he held out the food, "I guess I see you around more often now Mister Hotchner."

Chuckling, Hotch took the bag out of his hand, "yes, yes you will," and then he shut the door and turned to go back to the kitchen, calling to Emily as he walked down the hall.

"I bribed him with ten bucks. Now we're friends."

Emily laughed, "that's good. If you're going to be over here you need to get along with all the men in my life."

With a smirk Hotch dropped the bag on the counter as he looked over at her, "lots of other men are there?"

Bobbing her head back and forth she grinned, "not really. I think it's basically just Billy and Chad the pizza boy."

He came over to pick her up, squeezing her tight, "well, I think I can take them. They both weigh about a hundred pounds soaking wet."

Laughing, Emily wrapped her arms around his neck, "I think you could take them even if they were linebackers."

That was something she hadn't actually considered before. She'd really hit the jackpot with Hotch. Not only was he, as she'd told him upstairs, excellent father material, he was also capable of incapacitating almost anyone with basically just his pinky finger. And he'd broken that guy's wrist for her last month just because he'd left a bruise on her. Some women might find that a little creepy but Emily thought that was a selling point.

Hotch would take care of her and the baby. They would always be safe with him.

He placed her back on the ground and her eyes crinkled as her fingers ran along his cheekbones, not to mention he was absolutely gorgeous.

Yep . . . she leaned up to kiss him . . . she'd definitely made a good deal here. And as their mouths opened and his tongue swept into hers for the first time in a month, she suddenly flashed on what they had done immediately after the Chinese arrived last time.

But . . . she pulled back slightly . . . giving him a soft kiss before she pulled away completely . . . they weren't done talking. And she was afraid that if they got sidetracked they wouldn't get back to what they needed to get back to. And the big thing that was still left was, well . . . this.

Them.

How were they going to integrate their two separate lives into one? Aside from that one night, mostly their interactions were at work. As much as she loved having him here now, it would be weird if suddenly they were living together full time. If they wanted this to work they couldn't push things too fast. But on the other hand, she really did want them to be all settled in together by the time the baby came.

And where were they going to live after the baby did come?

She had one spare room but Hotch also had Jack. And she knew that whatever relationship she built with Hotch also meant that she was going to have a three year old living with her on the weekends. It wasn't fair to make a little boy who only saw his father for a few hours a week share his room with a baby.

Her eyes widened slightly as something suddenly occurred to her as she went over to get their drinks.

Not only was she going to be a mom, but she might eventually be a stepmom. Or at least be in that role.

Wow.

That was a little scary. But like good scary, like the baby. Because . . . she looked over at Hotch pulling the food out of the bags . . . she had no doubt that someday soon she would wake up in love with the man in the black suit. She wasn't quite there yet, but she was close. And being in love meant that everything that was important to him would be important to her. And his son, to date, was the most important thing in his life. Of course theoretically her child would now hold equal footing with Jack. She hoped so anyway. The bottom-line though was, that even if God forbid things didn't work out between her and Hotch, Jack would still be her child's brother. No matter what, she had just become part of a blended family.

She blinked . . . God this was a big day.

It's amazing how one little moment in time can change so many things in so many ways. A stick had turned blue and her life would never be the same again.

As they settled in on the couch with their dinner Emily turned to him, "how are we going to do this?"

Knowing instinctively what she meant, Hotch looked at her seriously, "one day at a time. I figure we'll spend a few nights a week together and get used to, you know, living together. The toothpaste issues, the shower issues, doing the dishes, that kind of stuff and then go from there."

He'd only ever lived with one woman so he didn't know if that was going to make it easier or harder in that respect.

She nodded, starting to feel a little better as she thought about going slow on the 'playing house' stuff. With the exception of crashing at her boyfriend's place for a month when she was doing her graduate studies abroad, she'd never lived with any man before. And that was more than fifteen years ago and she was just a kid then, not so set in her ways. She was a little worried that having Hotch here all the time was going to be an adjustment. But as long as they moved in slowly it should be fine. Then she looked over at him worriedly, "but we can spend more than just a few days a week together right? I mean, I don't want to go THAT slow."

Eyes crinkling Hotch put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against his side, "I promise you Emily that I will be around as much as you can stand me. It's going to be hard enough with work finding time to spend alone together, I certainly don't want to waste any of that free time sitting home alone if I could be with you learning how you spent your summer vacation junior year in college."

He hadn't had a girlfriend in over twenty years. He hadn't fallen in love in over twenty years. But he did remember that the beginning parts, they were fun, exciting. And the baby, now that they'd made their choice to be together, that was already fun and exciting. But he didn't want to lose out on any of the good stuff with Emily either. All of the little things were important. That's what would determine whether or not they could make this last.

"Turkey."

Brow scrunched Hotch looked down at Emily in confusion, "what?"

She smiled, "you wanted to know how I spent my summer vacation junior year in college. I was in Turkey. That was one of the few countries I didn't get to visit when my mother was assigned to the Middle East so I went back on my own and backpacked that whole summer."

Funny, she couldn't remember if she'd ever shared that with anyone before. Not that it was so private, but just that it's not the kind of thing that someone would normally ask about. They wouldn't care.

Her eyes crinkled as she looked over at Hotch . . . she had a really good feeling about this relationship.

Hotch stared at her for a moment, a warmth filling him. This was it. This was their new path. This was his new life . . . with her.

He reached over and picked up her plate and her chopsticks handing them to her before he picked up his own and turned to her with a smile.

"I did an internship at a law firm in Boston. Basically I delivered the mail and ordered lunch," he gestured to her with his chopsticks, "what did you do senior year?"

/*/*/*/*/

Later that night, Emily took Hotch to her bed again. And as they joined together he stopped, kissing her, telling her how beautiful she was, and how much he'd missed her. And when it was over he rolled her beneath him and told her that when things got hard, if they remembered this moment, then they would get through it. Because if they wanted this to work, they needed to remember that they had each other, and they had a baby coming. And that no matter what the bureau did, or what people said . . . the rewards would be worth the sacrifices.

And just like their last day together, Emily cried . . . but this time they were happy tears.

* * *

_A/N: Given how much ship building I did in this chapter I'm sort of astounded I actually hadn't planned on writing it initially! I think it definitely would have been a disservice to the building block part of things if I hadn't included it. _

_As I was writing this I was really amazed at the difference between the two baby stories. Obviously I know that the circumstances are completely dissimilar but I haven't written in this story since I started posting Mirror so I hadn't realized how different it would feel writing them. _

_On the plus side of adding in a chapter I wasn't planning, that means I now have the next two basically done. Which will be really good given the upcoming limitations on my writing time. These early days are easier because there's a clear delineation on things that have to happen to get them up and running relationship wise. But after that I'm a little stuck on what approach I'll be using to keep them rolling. Because we do need to cover another 8 months. I can either do the Girl approach of 'we get there when we get there' or The Hours approach of a bunch of quickshots showing them building their lives together. That would probably work because this is the same principle of figuring things out that they had over there, it's just much earlier and they know even less about one another. The upside of the quickshots is that I can leapfrog over weeks. _

_I don't know, maybe I'll just let it take as long as it takes. After all, this is the only baby story I'm going to write for them in the Girl verse. Might as well milk it. Just be prepared for the baby to be born like next July (in real life). Within the story I have to send her to the doctor so she can get a due date!_

_Feedback folks! Actually it's more important than ever because it's nice to know if I'm using my little bit of free time I'll have now to write and put these up that people are actually, you know reading them :) Otherwise it's kind of like me talking out loud in a room and having no idea if anyone's listening. And that way lies madness! So for the sake of my continued good mental health, please do drop a line on the stories occasionally :) Thanks!  
_


	9. First Day on a Brand New Planet

**Author's Note:** I'm sending out a general thanks for the feedback. The site's still a little fluky so I haven't been able to drop a note back to all of my reviewers. On a couple of the reviews I'm getting an error message the review doesn't exist even though I'm looking at the email copy of the review itself. It's very odd. So, if I didn't send you a thanks yet, that probably is why and I'll write back when I can :)

In the meantime, yay to having this pretty much all done and ready to post before I wrote that prior chapter. Because I really don't think I'll be posting again until the weekend. And I'll actually only be able to post this weekend if I skip this God awful extended family reunion that my mother is trying to guilt me into attending. Who honestly wants to spend time in the sweltering summer sun pretending to enjoy fifteen different kinds of bizarre 'pasta salad' with third cousins that you've never met before? Why don't I just talk to the guy next to me on the subway? We'll have just as much in common!

Moving off the topic of me avoiding what can only loosely be defined as my 'family,' this takes place the morning after. And just so you don't think I'm nuts for potentially having skipped ALL of that ship bonding stuff they did the night before, a lot of it was covered originally in here, just more in a recap sense than going through it 'live.' The live version was definitely better so I took out the recaps from this chapter so this is what we have now.

* * *

_Mid February_

**First Day on a Brand New Planet**

Emily woke up the next morning feeling Hotch wrapped around her.

Her eyes started to sting . . . so many nights she'd spent telling herself to move on, that it was never going to happen again, and here he was. And though their time was once again tinged with melancholy over consequences at work, she tried to stay focused only on Hotch. On the things he had said, with both his words and his actions.

Last night they'd talked for hours, just learning things about each another. Some big, some small. All of them important in their own way. And he told her the mistakes he had made in his marriage, and the pitfalls he was worried about falling into again. Working too much, cutting himself off . . . keeping secrets. And he made her promise that if she was unhappy, that if there was ever anything wrong, that she would tell him right away.

To not wait until it was too late to fix it.

That's when she knew . . . really understood . . . he was truly in this for the duration. He wanted to build a life together. And that's what she wanted too. She knew it was fast, and she knew that if she wasn't pregnant that she probably would be terrified at the speed that things were moving.

But she also knew . . . he was the one. The one she'd been looking for and she hadn't even known it.

She loved his voice and his dimples. The way he said her name . . . and the way he called her his beautiful girl as he lay on the couch with her last night, gently running his fingers through her hair.

And when the little voice in her head, the insecure geeky Emily that didn't think she'd ever get her happily ever after, tried to tell her that she was a rebound, that he hadn't been divorced very long, she reminded herself that he had been separated for months. And that he had the option of going home last night. He could have just taken responsibility for their child and walked away with the promise of nothing more than maintaining their friendship. That was actually all she had allowed herself to hope for yesterday.

But he didn't do that.

He promised her more. Promised things he didn't have to promise. And this wasn't the 50s, she wouldn't have been stoned in the street for being unmarried and pregnant. He didn't have to be chivalrous to save her honor . . . she smiled as she felt him nuzzle her neck . . . he just wanted to be with her. He told her that he wouldn't leave her. And she believed him.

And though there was once again a clock ticking on their time together, this time it was a good clock.

A baby clock.

Something else Hotch told her came back again. When he was holding her he'd whispered that if they just stayed focused on each other and the baby, then at the end of the day, the rewards would be greater than any of the sacrifices.

He was right. And that was going to be her mantra when things got bad.

She felt Hotch move his hand over from her hip, rubbing it gently along her bare stomach as she whispered softly, "I don't think you can feel anything yet."

He kissed her neck, pulling her back more firmly against him, "actually I can. There's a little swell now that I didn't feel last month."

Hotch had spent most of that night memorizing every curve of her body, understanding how special their time was, and not wanting to forget any of it. And he was quite sure that this was a new curve.

Her stomach had been completely flat before.

Eyes widening, Emily brought her hand up to his as she asked excitedly, "really?"

After they'd made love last night she'd gone into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, trying to see if she could see any changes in her body yet. It was the first opportunity she'd had since she'd realized yesterday morning that she'd missed her period. Even though she was keeping this a secret for now, she had still been a little disappointed that there was nothing obvious in the reflection.

But Hotch had a different perspective. His knowledge of her body was from touch. And he had the benefit of a time gap for comparison.

For God's sake she'd been pregnant for over a month and hadn't even realized it! Clearly she was not the person to ask on this issue.

Hotch guided her hand along the same path his had just run, "feel, right there, it's tiny, but it's a bump."

Emily's face softened as she said in wonderment, "I feel it."

Wow.

That was her baby . . . her eyes stung as she felt his hand on top of hers . . . their baby. Probably the size of a poppy seed right now but her body was already making room.

And that was just one of a thousand changes her body was going to go through. She needed to get some books. It would probably be best to get them online, or maybe they could take a drive this weekend. Somewhere down state. Maybe Newport News. They'd be completely anonymous down there.

They were hoping to keep this completely under wraps for at least the first trimester. But they both knew a lot of people in the Metro area, and if anybody saw her buying baby books, that was going to be a little hard to explain. Especially if they were together. She started to feel a little sadness damper her enthusiasm.

This was going to be so hard.

Not just the stress of what was going to happen at work, but most pregnant women had the support of their friends and family. Not only were she and Hotch going to have to keep a low profile when they were on their personal time, but this was the biggest thing happening in both of their lives. And they were going to have to hide it from all of their friends and family for four, or maybe even five months if she could find the right clothes.

Her eyes widened . . . oh God . . . their families!

She rolled over in Hotch's arms, "what are we going to do about our parents?"

They'd talked last night about work and the team but nothing about their parents.

Hotch's brow furrowed . . . crap. He hadn't even thought about that.

Biting his lip he looked back down at Emily, "well, you're going to go see your doctor this week and then we'll have a due date. Generally people wait through the first trimester before they share any news anyway, but I guess if you want to tell your parents now we can," he closed his eyes, "that's going to be ugly though."

The ambassador was going to have his balls. And Emily's father! God . . . Hotch winced . . . he was in the CIA. He could easily have Hotch stripped and blindfolded before dropping him naked in the middle of the Khyber Pass.

Emily frowned as she saw the distress on Hotch's face. He was right, that was going to be ugly if they did it now. They should wait until their relationship was a little more established. That way it would be clear that they were just a regular couple and not two people who were trying to build a relationship off of what others would see as simply a one night stand.

Of course she'd never seen it that way. Even at the time. And she knew that Hotch hadn't either. That had turned out to just be the prequel to their story. Now the rest of it was being written.

She kissed the corner of his mouth, trying to smooth out the worry lines before she gave him a soft smile, "I'll wait. You're right, if we say anything now that's just going to make things much harder for us. And God knows we don't need to invent obstacles, we have enough real ones," she sighed, "my mom and I still aren't close, but regardless, of course I'd tell her about a grandchild. But I'll just bring it up gradually. I don't see her very often, once a month for dinner usually. So I'll just arrange to have dinner with her later this week and when she asks, as she always does, if I'm seeing anyone, this time I'll say yes," her eyes crinkled, "I met him at work, recently divorced father of one young boy. And then next month, hopefully I still won't be showing yet, and then I'll tell her that it's you. She of course won't be thrilled that I'm dating my boss, but I don't think she'll completely freak out," she gave him a reassuring smile, "not like she would if I just called her right now and said we had sex one time and now we're having a baby. As far as she knows you're still married. So I think this way would be best. Give her a little time to get used to the idea, see that I'm happy, and then just before it's time for our next dinner, I'll call and tell her that I'm pregnant. And my dad travels a lot so I probably won't be seeing him for a couple months anyway. I'll just email him when he's off in the middle of Timbuktu so he'll be completely adjusted to the idea and all excited about being a grandpa before he comes back to the States."

She brushed her fingers through Hotch's hair, "sound good?"

It seemed like a good plan to her. Her dad would be okay. Granted, if Hotch had like abandoned her, then her father probably would have done something horrible to him. But, fortunately for everyone, that was not a concern. Her dad had never been judgmental about her life choices. Not like her mother was. So basically he would be happy if she was happy.

His eyes crinkled, "yeah, that sounds good."

It sounded way better than being castrated and dropped into the middle of a Taliban stronghold that's for sure.

Then he frowned, "I don't know what to do about my family though," he rolled his eyes, "I just got divorced. My brother will be fine, but my mother is going to think things that she shouldn't be thinking about you."

Emily winced slightly. Great, Hotch's mom was going to think she was a whore. That's a nice introduction to the family. Then her brow furrowed as she again remembered a key point.

"Wait . . . though, Aaron, you and Haley haven't been together since last spring. And _she_ left you. It's not like we were having this illicit affair that broke up your marriage. We didn't do anything wrong," she tipped her head, "granted, this is all happening a bit quickly, but you were 100% single when we got together. We didn't break any legal or, moral codes."

Hotch stared at her for a moment thinking about the timeline, and then he realized that she was right.

Thank God he'd signed those papers in the parking lot before they had sex in the bathroom!

They might not have been filed yet but they were still official. With a clear conscience he could say that he'd been divorced prior to any physical relations taking place. Not that he planned on actually discussing the particulars with anyone, but God knows the kinds of things that could come out of his mother's mouth when he told her about his pregnant girlfriend three months after he got divorced.

He nodded, "you're right. We didn't do anything at all until after I was divorced," he gave Emily a little smile, "okay, I feel good now. I don't see my family that often either but still," he touched her cheek, "I want them to think well of you," his eyes crinkled, "so at least as far as the families go we don't have to put up with any crap from anyone," he kissed her and then murmured, "thank you for reminding me of the facts of my life."

Huffing against his lips she murmured back, "you're welcome."

The kiss started to deepen and her eyes snapped over to the clock.

They'd woken up early. Her alarm wasn't scheduled to go off for another forty five minutes. So she decided take advantage of this prime opportunity.

Why just make out when they had time for other activities as well?

She reached down between them, feeling Hotch was semi-hard, probably just from her naked body being pressed against him. But as she stroked her hand back and forth along his length, she felt him harden further.

Hotch had been exploring with his tongue and suddenly he smiled against her mouth, "did you lose your keys?"

Her hand stopped it's slow glide as she giggled, "we woke up early, I thought we should take advantage of that," she pouted, "after all, you're the one that said we can't have sex on the road," she gave him a little squeeze, grinning when he bit his lip, "we should stock up now."

Hotch's lips twitched as he pulled her hand back, rolling her beneath him, "stock up, huh? I didn't know you could do that."

She nodded seriously, "oh yeah you can. It's a scientific fact. I think we'll have to have sex at least twice a day to cover the spread though."

He snorted before covering her mouth with his as he moved his own hand down, slipping his middle finger into her depths, making sure she was ready.

Definitely.

But he decided to hold off for a minute. Pressing down a little more firmly, he slid his hand back and forth. She bit her lip, and closed her eyes, so he continued to play, watching what she responded to. They'd only had the one night before. And as much as he had learned about her body, there was so much he still needed to know. Feeling her start to push back on his hand, he focused all of his attention on her clit, increasing the pressure and speed as he worked around it. Smiling, he watched as her breathing started to change, and she rubbed harder against him.

She came silently, nothing but gasps and pants. But he could feel her body moving, and he could see the bliss on her face as she pulled him in for a kiss, and he knew that she was happy.

And that's all that he wanted. To find all the ways that he could make her happy.

He pulled his hand back. After watching her come he was rock hard, so he shifted slightly, slowly sliding into her, simply reveling in the sensation of being joined with her again. That had been his favorite part that first night, just making that connection. And he'd discovered last night that connection was even stronger now. The sex was great last month, but now it was even better. That bond that they were forming then, it was so much stronger now. And he knew . . . the longer they were together . . . the more tightly bound they would become.

They were just at the beginning of this journey.

He had started to move but then, thinking about the future, he stopped, looking down at her in wonderment, "I think maybe we could really be happy."

Emily stared up at him with a beatific smile as she whispered back.

"I think so too."

* * *

_A/N 2: I'd figured it's already an M story so might as throw in one quick little sex paragraph. The one good thing about all the sex in the beginning of the story, anything I do now is tame in comparison! _

_The next chapter is half assed written. It's going to speed things up a bit, over the rest of that week. I think I'm starting to get an idea in my head as to how to move them forward. I've discovered that during the commute, ideas are coming to me for this story, and this story alone. It's strange. But I figure I'll go with it, whatever keeps the muse going. I just jot down the snippets when I get home and hopefully I'll have time later in the week to get them all cleaned up and posted. _


	10. Society's Views On Pantry Etiquette

**Author's Note:** I KNOW! An update on Second Chances, can you believe it? :)

Here's the thing, through just the randomness of life I somehow ended up with maybe a half dozen comments/inquires on this story over the last month. And you might not realize, but you suddenly pop up on something old, that will most likely result in me pulling out the story myself, blowing off the dust and refreshing my memory on exactly what it was you kind and gentlefolk had just read :) And this poor thing has been sitting out there because I was waiting to get back to it when I had time to devote to it properly. But then I was whining (whinging I believe it's known elsewhere) to my Arcadya that EVERYTHING now takes forever to update (damn real life) so really, what difference did it make if I opened this up again now? She agreed. And she also helped me work out my narrative thread to continue on, we're going to do it like The Hours. Not that I mean we'll be updating as slowly as possible :) but more that we're going with the "snippet" approach to the life event.

What is the "snippet" approach? If you read the first incarnation of The Hours, you might recall early on my mentioning that it was mostly random one shots that just cover little 'day in the life' type moments as they start building their life together. That's what I've decided we're doing here. And that's what we'll be doing again in the new Hours. It's the only way to move forward lengthy timewise life events. So, depending on their activities in the chapter, the baby talk might take prominence, or maybe it won't come up at all. As I've said before on this narrative style, it's not like you personally are constantly recapping _all _of the particulars of your own life during every mundane little moment. That would be weird.

Onwards and upwards.

If a little bit of this chapter sounds VERY familiar, there's good cause. And I will explain at the end what it is.

* * *

_Early March: Thursday Evening_

**Society's Views On Pantry Etiquette **

Hotch stood in Emily's kitchen, his brow wrinkled at he stared at the upper shelf of her open refrigerator door. He was utterly perplexed.

They'd just come back from Safeway. This was their first grocery excursion since they'd gotten together three weeks ago. And they'd been out of the town for the last three days so initially the plan had just been to stop at the store on the way home from work to pick up a few things to make dinner. It had been agreed that they both ate entirely too much takeout, and that not only would it be much healthier for Emily and the baby if she cut out the junk food, also it would be a hell of a lot cheaper for both of them.

Babies were _very_ expensive and they needed to start putting some money aside.

Yes, Hotch (and Emily) both made earned a good paycheck, but at present they were paying for two apartments and he also was still supporting Haley and Jack. He had plenty of disposable income now, but his paycheck was not going to stretch nearly as far once this baby was born and he was officially taking care of two whole families.

Not that he was really _that _concerned about money . . . eventually he and Emily would (hopefully) be splitting a household budget . . . but it would be nice if maybe he could afford to send his children to college someday. So with that thought in mind, he decided that maybe they should pick up a few extra food staples to leave at Emily's house. It would make it less tempting to order in if they got home late.

Emily had agreed.

Though he was only sleeping over a few nights a week, he was over for dinner twice as often as he was over to play house. So their quick stop at the grocery store had ended up taking an hour and a half and they'd walked out with eight bags of groceries. And now they were unpacking enough food to feed a family of twelve. But he'd just stopped because he'd seen something rather curious in Emily's refrigerator.

Something he hadn't noticed before.

"Sweetheart?" he projected over his shoulder, "why do you have . . ." He did a quick mental count before finishing, "thirteen bottles of salad dressing in your refrigerator?"

Though he wasn't quite sure what the average household's salad dressing retention was, thirteen seemed like kind of a lot.

"Marinade," Emily replied to Hotch distractedly as she finished stacking the just purchased cans of tuna in the cabinet. She was making sure that the little bumblebees all lined up evenly. Some people thought she had OCD . . . she rolled her eyes as she straightened the third can up . . . Morgan for instance had been known to make a comment or two about her desk layout. But really, she just liked things orderly. And now that the bumblebees were indeed orderly, she turned to Hotch with a little smile.

"I use it as marinade for chicken or pork. They get boring if you make them the same all the time. And I don't usually get home early enough to cook anything fancy, so I buy a bunch of different flavors of dressing so I can vary my meals."

Of course half of those bottles had probably expired a year ago . . . it was hard to use them up when you were generally just cooking for one . . . but Hotch didn't need to know that right now. No reason to look like a complete slob the first month into this relationship. So she'd clean out the fridge this weekend when he was back at his place with Jack. That way she'd come off looking like a tidy housekeeper . . . aka, good mother of his child material . . . and Hotch wouldn't die of ptomaine poisoning when she accidentally served him three year old Caribbean Jerk sauce.

Everybody wins.

Hotch tipped his head as he looked back at the variety of regular, low fat and no fat bottles in the door.

"Hmm, makes sense I guess,"

And he'd learned something new today. They were still at the point where he was generally learning something new every day. Their relationship . . . bun in the oven notwithstanding . . . was for all intents, still in the 'first few days, getting to know you' stage. Though of course they had actually known each other for years, so in that respect they were well ahead of the curve. Hotch knew what kind of person Emily was.

The good kind.

But all of these little bits, the salad dressing, her ridiculously (endearingly) enormous collection of pajamas, the obsessive bumblebee tuna can arranging . . . yes he'd seen her on tiptoes out of the corner of his eye . . . this was all very new. These were generally the things you learned about one another when you were dating. And these were the things that could often . . . strangely enough . . . make or break a relationship. But . . . he scanned the contents of the shelves in front of him . . . that was not going to happen here.

If they could work over the pitfalls of a relationship built initially on the shared interest in chasing down serial killers for a living, he sure as hell wasn't going to let a few condiments stand in the way of his personal happiness.

Though . . . his eyebrow went up as something in the lower shelf of the door caught his attention . . . this was one condimental decision that did require further inquiry.

"Uh, why is the ketchup in the refrigerator?"

"Um, because that's where it goes," Emily logically responded as she started digging into the bag of toiletries. Then she looked up.

"Is that a problem?" she asked, slightly amused.

Three weeks into their crash course in relationship building and this was the first time Hotch had been so nosy about her kitchen. Of course this was the first time that they'd been out shopping together. Generally when he was over, even if he was cooking . . . she'd discovered that Hotch was a really good cook . . . she was pulling out all the ingredients for him before he got started.

It was just easier that way.

As much as they were trying, it was still a little weird for both of them suddenly being so much in each other's space, literally and figuratively. So he'd seemed as willing to let her dig things out for him as she was to do it. And that was saying something because Emily generally wasn't much for waiting on anybody.

Nor did she really think Hotch was much for being waited on. So actually him taking such an interest in the contents of her refrigerator made her happy.

It meant that they were settling in.

"No, not a problem," Hotch responded conversationally as he turned back to make room in the door for the caffeine free diet coke they'd bought to replace her usual caffeinated brand, "it's just that well," he paused, "it belongs in the cabinet."

Now that they were together this way, Hotch had finally come to see just why Emily always seemed to receive such immense enjoyment the last few years in pushing his buttons.

It was fun.

And it was definitely not something that he'd done with Haley . . . his ex-wife's personality was night and day from his new girlfriend's . . . so maybe that was part of why he got such a kick out of joking around with Emily this way.

It was their thing.

And given how short a lifespan their relationship had to date, it was nice to start stockpiling things.

"Says who?" Emily challenged with a smirk as she crossed her arms across her chest.

"Society," Hotch responded as he spared her a glance over his shoulder.

"Society huh," Emily snorted. "Well you can tell," she raised her fingers into air quotes, "'society' that they are welcome to leave a small bottle in the pantry, but that the Heinz is staying in the door."

Seeing his lips twitch, she smirked again before turning back to her unpacking. Though her smirk immediately morphed more to a pursing of her lips as she pulled out the next item from the canvas bag in front of her.

"Aaron," she asked in confusion as she stared down at the little white box in her hand, "did you buy cinnamon toothpaste on purpose?"

Beyond the suggested "staple stockpiling" that Hotch had suggested, Emily had also decided it was time for Hotch to start leaving a few toiletries at her house. Initially he'd just been living out of his ready bag, but the more time passed, the more she started to see that was kind of silly.

Really, him having a razor in her cabinet and deodorant on her shelf wasn't going to cause her to have a panic attack. They weren't moving too fast, they were just being practical. So she made sure to send him off to pick up all of his bathroom basics before they left the store.

Though she had no memory of him picking up this box.

"I did indeed buy cinnamon toothpaste on purpose," Hotch called back. And then Emily's brow wrinkled even further in confusion.

"But," she bit her lip, "since when do you use cinnamon toothpaste?"

"Since always." Hotch bumped the refrigerator shut with his hip as he turned back to her with a raised eyebrow, "you've kissed me how many times over the last three weeks and you never noticed I tasted like cinnamon?"

"Well," Emily's brow wrinkled a bit more, "yeah, I noticed the cinnamon but I guess I thought it was a breath mint."

"No," he shook his head, "not a breath mint. Toothpaste." Then Hotch threw Emily's own question back to her as he crossed his arms and asked with an exaggerated. "Is that a _problem_?"

"Of course not," Emily shot back immediately with a saucy eyebrow, "it's just that '_society'_ knows that toothpaste is supposed to be minty fresh."

Hotch's jaw quivered slightly and Emily laughed out loud as she placed the small box on the counter.

"Wow," she said with a grin she walked over to him, "we just survived our first domestic incident."

Of course they had had the occasional work related disagreement over the last few years. And really, aside from totally getting off on the wrong foot . . . and Hotch almost accidentally shooting her that night in the everglades . . . nothing big. So given what would generally be considered a somewhat 'stressful' circumstance to build a new relationship . . . read, knocked up by your boss . . . they'd been doing really well so far with all this personal time they were spending together. They were actually _very_ compatible. She had started to pick up on that last month when they began to get lunch together, but she was still a bit surprised to discover just how well they got along given that superficially she and Hotch's personalities seemed so different.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at Emily's remark.

"I think you need to count again Agent Prentiss," he scoffed drily as she stopped in front of him. "What about last Thursday when you told me that that if I ever wanted to sleep in your bed again that I needed to quote 'toss that vile substance in the trash,' end quote."

Said vile substance of course being his breakfast.

Emily pouted. "That one doesn't count. You were eating runny eggs while your child performed his first major aerobatic routine in my stomach."

Morning sickness had unfortunately kicked in last week. Yuck. Fortunately so far it hadn't been too bad, not hitting everyday anyway . . . but still, yuck.

"Yes sweetheart," Hotch responded calmly while slipping his hands around Emily's now ever so slightly expanded waistline, "I know that OUR child," he gave her a look, "was performing an aerobatic routine that day, and I'm very sorry about that. But if you'll recall you did smack me, throw a dirty dishtowel over my plate and then threaten to cut off all physical affection for the next seven and a half months if I didn't immediately toss my breakfast in the garbage." His eyebrow quirked up in amusement, "so I'd have to say that taking all of those factors into account, objectively speaking, the events of that morning tend to fall under the category of a 'domestic incident.'"

Really for him, as corny as it sounded, it was domestic bliss. Since the separation with Haley, his average morning would have seen him alone standing at the counter of his crappy little rental apartment, downing his third cup of coffee while he checked his email. Then he'd leave the house just after dawn without any food in his stomach. But now things were completely different.

Now he had Emily.

And though they were still limiting themselves to three nights a week together . . . playing house part time . . . his morning routine had still changed dramatically. Now every morning they weren't physically together, they still talked on the phone. Generally he called to wake her up after his morning run. And that particular morning of the FIRST recorded domestic incident, he had actually slept over Emily's apartment. All had been going very well as they shared their juice and toast. But then while they were discussing plausible scenarios (lies) to tell the team so they could clear their schedules for her next visit to the obstetrician, Emily had suddenly stopped talking, turned green and begun smacking his arm as she yelled about the eggs.

Before he could even react to anything she'd said, she'd slapped her hand over her mouth and bolted to the downstairs bathroom. He'd of course run after her, holding her hair and rubbing her back as she got sick. That went on for a good five minutes and then afterwards he'd wiped her face with a cool cloth and helped her up off the floor. And though she'd tried to insist that she was fine, he could see from the pinched lines around her mouth that she still felt lousy. So he'd ignored her somewhat feeble protests as he walked her out to the living room, logically pointing out along the way that she might as well rest for a few minutes because if got sick later at work she wasn't going to have the same luxury. Though he would of course love to let her have use of his couch, that just couldn't be done. He could only imagine the reaction to letting his pregnant girlfriend sleep in his office during the day.

Might as well start sending out his resume now if he thought that was the way to handle this situation.

And though he hated to see Emily so miserable, he couldn't deny that for him that actually had been a good day. A tangible reminder that this was all real. He was building a new family. Making a new life. This time now with Emily was the happiest he'd been in years. Probably since just after Jack was born.

He'd just turned three.

Emily narrowed her gaze as she stared up at Hotch looking down at her, then her eyes dropped to his chest for a moment . . . he might have a small point there about incident one. So when she brought her eyes up to his again she gave him a little smile.

"I guess in retrospect an A&B on your scrambled eggs might _technically_ count as a domestic incident."

Surprised that she'd given in so quickly . . . Hotch had discovered Emily had a very competitive streak when it came to things like this . . . his lips twitched slightly as he looked down at her. "Thank you for seeing it my way," and he leaned down to give her a thank you kiss.

The thank you went on a little longer than he'd planned given that they still had to finish putting away the groceries before he started dinner. But in regard to their physical relations, they were still very much in the honeymoon phase . . . i.e. he couldn't keep his hands off of her. And when he pulled back more than a minute later, they were both flushed and panting and he was trying to remember why it was that making dinner was so damn important.

Oh right . . . his fingers glided over her stomach as his higher reasoning skills started to come back again . . . growing baby. That's it.

Emily looked up at Hotch for a second before a grin spread across her face.

"You know, I think I really do like the cinnamon."

And Hotch burst out laughing.

"Good to know sweetheart," he kissed her forehead, still chuckling as he pulled her into a hug.

"Good to know."

* * *

_A/N 2: If you read the original version of the Hours, it takes little squinting to recall the substance of the groceries discussion originally being a chapter over in that universe. However, on the revamped version of that story, there was no place to put this. Girl had reset some basic tenants of their relationship and it was clear that they'd been shopping together many times over those months leading up to them getting together officially. And given how short and narrowly focused the original grocery unpacking chapter was, there wasn't even enough there to scavenge for parts in the Hours redux. But then I realized that they weren't at all domesticated in this world so it was a perfect place to move it. Then I just wrote out some filler to update their lives here and tada! Recycling in it's purest form. This is now a green story :) _

_Condimental is actually a word. I thought I was making it up, but no, the spell check didn't underline it. Learned something new today myself._

_If you've read Girl all the way through, you'll see basic elements of their personalities (as I've interpreted them in this universe) showing up in this story, but in new ways. Like Emily's slight OCD, her pajama collection (something suddenly thrust upon Hotch sharing her bedroom as opposed to the occasional glimpses he was getting of them initially over in Girl), their bantering and Emily's competitive need to win every time. So yeah, now that I have jumped the bridge from the angsty getting together point to the simple life building stage, I would like to get in here again more regularly. Overall I'd like the tone here to be more like Girl was through the AU, more the "romantic comedy" stage than the heavier elements they had at the end. Also, the hope was to keep this a 'lighter' pregnancy story as Mirror, Mirror is the heavier tale on this same topic. I also think, given how many of the particulars were so focused on in that story, to keep this one fresh and different, that these 'day in the life' pop ins will probably make things easier in that respect. _

_Not sure when the next update will be but I can promise it will be a shorter gap than between this chapter and the last posting. So somewhere between 1 day and 17 months :)_

_Hope everybody's happy this is back again :) _


	11. Naming The New Tenant

**Author's Note**: Hey, howdy kids. I definitely beat that 17 month goal for the next update :) This wasn't even on the list of updates I was planning this weekend. Actually this chapter didn't even _exist_ until this afternoon. I took a short nap and it came to me while I was sleeping. It's rather annoying how that happens. You can spend WEEKS trying to work out one frickin' scene in one story and then another one, you take a nap. But I really needed to write something light and fluffy and I'll explain at the end why that was.

Anyway, on with the show!

_

* * *

Early March: Sunday Evening_

**Naming The New Tenant**

"Spud?"

"No."

"Niblet?"

"No."

"Jellybean?"

"No."

"Peanut."

"Eh . . . no."

Emily's jaw twitched as she looked over at Hotch in irritation . . . that was twelve "no's" in a row. She looked back at the list in her lap.

"Well, then how about Cletus The Fetus?

Hotch's eyes snapped up from his laptop.

"Please tell me that you're joking." He said warily.

Seeing the glint of fear in Hotch's eyes, Emily smirked slightly as she leaned back against the couch.

"Just wanted to see if you were really paying attention." Then she harrumphed before looking back down at her list and mumbling. "It seems like you're just saying no to everything on principle."

They . . . or more specifically, _she_ . . . was trying to decide on a name for their unborn child. Not a birth certificate name mind you, just something to call he/she while he/she was subletting Emily's uterus. The book said it was a good way to bond with the baby . . . Emily had agreed. But getting Hotch to _agree_, well . . . she ran a line through the last four names she'd called out . . . that was something else entirely. Unborn baby names were generally something goofy or cutesy and Hotch wasn't really into "goofy" or "cutesy" anything. Hence the look of horror on his face when she'd read this nickname passage of the "Bonding With Your Baby" chapter to him the other night in bed.

It was something akin to telling him she'd decided to invite Dave over for a threeway.

So after getting him to (reluctantly) agree to at least consider the idea . . . he said they hadn't "pre-named" Jack and yet they'd bonded just fine . . . she told him that she'd come up with a list of names that she was okay with and then he could just yay or nay. That way he really didn't have to "do" anything, but she'd still get him to participate in the process.

Sorta.

He had said okay to this approach. So while he was home with Jack this weekend she'd researched all the books and baby forum sites trying to find a suitable list of options to run by him.

Right now she had thirty-seven on the list of maybes.

Though . . . she shot Hotch a dirty look when she saw that he was still staring at her . . . if he was going to be this disagreeable about _all_ of them then she might as well just pick the damn name herself.

Hotch tapped his fingers on his keyboard as he looked over at Emily . . . he'd heard a definite tone there in that last mumble about his attitude. Then when she looked up and saw him staring at her she shot him a scowl.

The scowl persisted even after her head dropped back down and she began scribbling on her list again.

He stifled a groan.

Great, and _now _he was in trouble! Damn baby books. Why the hell couldn't those people just mind their own damn business and stop sharing their ridiculous ideas with the rest of the world? For thousands of years women had been procreating and somehow they'd all managed to do so without the aid of any "book" telling them that if they didn't call their unborn child Moonbeam or some such nonsense that they were horrible mothers whose children would never love them.

Not that he was opposed to talking to the baby while in utero . . . well, provided Emily was unconscious and there was nobody else around to hear him do it . . . but really, he didn't see the point in coming up with some "temp name" to tide them over until they knew the sex of the baby and could start picking out real names.

Really he thought the whole idea of a nickname for bonding purposes only was rather silly.

But . . . with a sigh he closed the monthly tactical report Morgan had just emailed him . . . obviously Emily did not. And this wasn't just _his_ baby, it was their baby. And Emily wanted _their_ baby to get a nickname. And really it wasn't going to hurt anything except perhaps his pride to go along with this one little thing that would make her happy.

So with that thought, he placed his laptop on the coffee table and moved over to the couch. Though she immediately stopped writing, it took a second before she lifted her head.

He could see from the eyebrow he was getting that she was expecting him to say something that was going to piss her off further. Well . . . he gave her a little smile . . . think again sweetheart. He was going to be enthusiastic and supportive tonight if it frigging killed him.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he said softly as he squeezed her hand, "I wasn't just saying no to them on principle," his nose wrinkled slightly, "I just really wasn't that keen on any of those options." Then he sighed, "but you do have a point, I'm not being very helpful either so why don't we just look at the list together and decide. It is our baby so we should choose something like this as a couple," his brow quirked up, "right?"

Though he stood by his internal assessment on the necessity of this naming project . . . that was _no_ necessity . . . that didn't mean he should be a schmuck about it.

Bottom line . . . their baby, their decision.

Emily stared at Hotch for a moment before her lip quirked up.

"Right."

She had stopped being annoyed as soon as he said he was sorry but by the time he got to the end of his little speech and was saying that it was their baby and they should do this together, well, that was about the point where she was ready to rip his clothes off and do it right there on the couch.

Damn pregnancy hormones.

But it's just when he was all sweet and sensitive and adorable that he was absolutely irresistible. However . . . she leaned over to give him a very good, very long, very wet, you're forgiven kiss . . . he was going to have to be resisted for a few minutes longer. She reluctantly pulled back . . . God knows how long _Sweet, Sensitive and Adorable Hotch_ was going to be in the building. So it was best to get this nickname thing straightened out tonight before _Slightly Cranky, No Nonsense (though still beloved) Hotch_ returned from his coffee break.

That guy tended to put a damper on her more ridiculous ideas.

Though . . . a faint smirk settled on her face . . . she could tell from the hands starting to slide under her t-shirt and the lips that had just latched onto her neck that yet another Hotch . . . _Hot, Sexy, Gonna Get Me Some Tonight Hotch_ . . . had just made an appearance.

Emily was VERY fond of _that_ guy. He and _Raging Pregnancy Hormones Emily_ had been having some mighty hot sex as of late.

But . . . she swatted away the hands and the lips . . . he was going to have to go join Cranky Hotch at the coffee shop.

They had a baby name to pick out.

Feeling Emily push him back to his own couch cushion, Hotch looked over at her in astonishment. The woman had just dropped her hand on his crotch_ as_ she sucked on his tongue and now HE was getting a red light!

SERIOUSLY?

Seeing the look she was getting for putting the kybosh on the foreplay, Emily gave Hotch a low level pout in apology. "Sorry honey, but I want to pick the name first."

Noting that response still didn't straighten out the crease in his brow, she snuggled into his side and purred. "But then after we're done we can go upstairs and I'll find something in The Drawer that's black and lacy to reward you for being such a good baby daddy."

Hotch loved The Drawer. And why wouldn't he? It was filled with all manner of silky, sexy, lacy undergarments/nightclothes that she hardly ever had occasion to wear. But since they'd gotten together last month she'd been quickly working her way through said silky, sexy, lacy, undergarments/night clothes before she was too fat to fit into them anymore.

That day was fast approaching.

The teddies had definitely started getting very snug around the midsection. But fortunately she never had to wear them for longer than it took Hotch to figure out where the straps, ribbons or snaps were. And given that her man had an IQ tipping well into the 130s, that was usually a task that only took two to three minutes.

With his teeth.

Basically Hotch's favorite outfit on her seemed to just be the birthday suit. But lace covered nipples were placing at a close second. And seeing Hotch's left dimple appear at the thought of her breaking out something black and lacy as a reward for helping with this little project that she knew he thought was a bit ridiculous . . . hence her trying to push off Cranky Hotch's appearance . . . she knew that they had a solid plan for the rest of the evening.

"Okay then," Hotch slipped his arm around Emily's shoulders as his eyes dropped down to her notepad, "let's see what we've got."

A black lace based reward system. Never let it be said that Emily didn't know how to properly motivate. Though . . . Hotch's brow furrowed as he began looking at the names on her list . . . if this was all he had to choose from then he might not be getting anything tonight but a cold shoulder.

"_Bob_?"

What the hell?

Emily shrugged, "it's an acronym for Baby On Board. It was in the book, but," she swiped her pen across it, "I'm telling from your tone that's a no go." She pointed. "What about this one?"

"Muggle? I don't even know what a Muggle is Emily," Hotch's brow wrinkled as he thought back, "is it some kind of Muppet?"

"No," Emily huffed slightly as she shook her head, "not a Muppet. It's this thing from the Harry Potter books. Half human, half witch. And you know right now the baby's half human, half amorphous blob so I thought it was kind of cute. But," she rolled her eyes at the look of horror on Hotch's face, "I can see you don't agree."

"A _witch_?" Hotch asked incredulously, "you wanted to name our unborn child after a _witch_?"

God, he was really going to have to research the names she put on the birth certificate list.

She might end up naming their kid after a demon or something.

"MOVING ON," Emily responded loudly. "Okay," she tucked her hair back behind her ear, "how about bunny?"

"Kind of effeminate."

"For you or it?"

Hearing the mockery in Emily's tone, Hotch choose to take the high ground.

"Moving on."

Then he pointed to the middle of the page, "that one has to go. It's undignified."

Emily's brow wrinkled as she stared at the offending sequence of letters, "un_dignified_? What's wrong with it?"

Yes, there was a bit of defensiveness in her tone there but geez, undignified? You'd think she'd suggested they name the baby cowflap!

"Emily," Hotch shook his head defiantly, "I'm _not_ calling my unborn child _Bump_. A bump is something that you drive over on the street. It is not something you name a human being."

Making a point to ignore the slightly petulant pout on his girlfriend's face, Hotch continued to look over his options. Then he saw two that caught his eye and his brow rose slightly in interest. "I'm not completely opposed to number fifteen or number twenty-one."

Emily looked to the two items and made a big star next to each of them.

Fifteen was "Little One" and twenty-one was straight old capital B "Baby." Previous undignified insult forgotten, Emily's eyes crinkled slightly as she turned to kiss Hotch's cheek.

Finally, he was getting into the spirit of it. And never let it be said that her man didn't enjoy the classics. And though she could live with either choice, she had kind of been hoping to come up with something with a bit more character. Not that they were going to be using this name out in the real world, but still, it was the first name their baby was ever going to have.

It should be special.

She was watching Hotch's finger trail down the names on the legal pad when suddenly he brushed over one in particular and she had it.

"That's it! Hotchkin!"

"What?" Hotch stopped and looked at Emily in confusion, "what did you just call me?"

"No, not you, the baby," Emily said excitedly, "Hotchkin! I was just looking at Munchkin and it came to me. It's perfect," she grinned at him as she patted her belly, "the baby's my Hotch munchkin so we should call it Hotchkin."

How had she not thought of that before? Well, probably because she was just looking at all the lists in the books and on the forums of what everybody else called _their_ baby. She should have stopped and thought what would best fit her own baby.

It's daddy.

Hotch's lips started to twitch at the phrase Hotch Munchkin, and then his eyes fell away from Emily's and dropped to the coffee table . . . Hotchkin. Though he wouldn't admit it aloud, that was kind of cute. But not so cute that he'd have to hand over his testicles every time he uttered it aloud.

He could live with it.

"Okay," he looked up at her and nodded, "Hotchkin it is."

"YAY!" Emily grinned right before she leaned forward smacked a sloppy wet kiss on Hotch's cheek.

He started to laugh.

"So I guess you're happy now?"

He was a little frightened to admit it, but making Emily happy was fast becoming his primary avocation. Not that making Emily happy wasn't an utterly laudable pursuit . . . he smiled as she nodded her head and snuggled into his side . . . because it was absolutely a pursuit of the highest order. No, his concern was what it actually meant beyond the obvious.

That he was falling in love.

Of course that was the end game here, falling in love, getting married, moving in together and having their perfect, beautiful, absolutely brilliant because it took after it's mother, baby Hotchkin. Or maybe Hotchkina.

He had a hunch it was a girl.

Regardless, he was happy to allow all of those events to happen in whatever order they were fated to do so. But he just knew that once that first domino fell, that all the rest would soon start to follow. And even if this is what he was working towards, it was still scary.

Happy Family . . . Take Two.

Still though . . . he tucked Emily under his chin . . . those were good worries. Because right now they were working things out and making decisions together . . . "Happy Family, Take Two" seemed like a very achievable dream. He just had to keep his eyes on the prize.

Emily plus Jack plus new baby, correction, _Hotchkin_ = Family.

Emily sighed against Hotch's chest . . . Hotchkin. Perfect. Now . . . she reached over and picked up her notepad off the table again . . . it was time to move on to her second list.

The one she'd started compiling when she was bored yesterday.

Seeing Emily flip over to the next page in her notepad, Hotch's brow wrinkled.

"What's that?"

She held it up in front of him and he started reading to himself.

. . . Magilla the Gorilla

. . . Baron Von Tallywhacker

. . . Kong

What the . . . ? And then he looked at the list again and his eyes popped out.

"No."

"But Hotch," Emily whined.

"No Emily," Hotch pushed himself up, "absolutely not. You are not going to give my penis a nickname."

Then he walked out of the living room in a huff and two seconds later she heard him slam the bathroom door.

Emily grinned as she yelled over her shoulder.

"SPOIL SPORT!"

* * *

A/N 2: _I really wasn't planning on two updates here back to back (with nothing in between) but I got totally depressed last night doing research for this story and then had to write something to cheer myself up and this is what I came up with. I had planned on them having a conversation at some point about an unborn baby nickname, I just wasn't planning on writing it right now. And the thing that totally depressed me? I came across a thread on a baby forum called "my relationship is falling apart" and I won't get into specifics because it'll totally bring you down too, but basically it was all these terribly sad stories that almost had me in tears halfway down the first page. So I had to stop working on the more dramatic chapters I've been cobbling together in the various worlds to craft something totally light and fluffy to wipe all the RL angst from my brain._

_As to the baby name options, if you read Mirror then you know that thebaby is Baby in that world. But that's a different Emily who went with that nickname for reasons specific to that world. But Girl Emily, especially all paired off with Hotch already, she's going to approach the nickname with a different mindset. She's going to want something that works for both of them. You just can't ask somebody like Hotch to call your unborn child "Oogy." That would just be, no. And those names she was throwing out, those are all real options, most of which I got from a baby thread. Even Cletus the Fetus which is seriously the most awesome name ever! I got Bunny and Bump from my kickass beta (hi Darlin') and I also got her golden seal of approval when I finally picked Hotchkin as number one. I actually had picked a different nickname out (also something very unique to them) but Hotch's munchkin came to me today and I just thought it was perfect. So I'm now saving my original nickname pick for a later point in the story after Jack makes an appearance. Hopefully people approve of Hotchkin, but if not, I think you'll at least like the other option :)_

_And in case you're wondering, though Emily does jokingly refer to Hotch's penis as "Kong" over in a chapter of Girl, in no part of the Girl'verse does his penis have an official nickname so, Hotch will get his way on this point. Besides, you know Emily was really just looking for a new way to torture him :)_

_FYI: If you're interested, Kavi and I will be putting up Valentine's prompts in a day or so. _


	12. There Was This Girl You See

**Author's Note:** As Chances has already gone completely AU far earlier than Girl proper did, I've decided to take advantage of that to fold in some other cases that we did not see covered in season three. Not to say that we won't still also cover some cases that were in canon (Hotch being blown up for instance will occur in all universes) but for the most part I'm just going to jump around as I feel like it and as I think it pertains well to the underlying, 'Em's pregnant while this is happening,' theme.

The prompt here is from last summer's TV case fic batch. Just so you know, those are still open for use. The "summer" element was not exclusive, so if you get an idea to write a case fic type story based on any of the prompts, run with it.

So think of this case kind of like "Great Falls" was over in Girl in that's it's a little dramatic mini-arc within the larger storyline. And it'll probably be two or three chapters.

**

* * *

TV Bonus Challenge #15 - Case Fics Extraordinaire**

Show: Ally McBeal

Title Challenge: The Man With The Bag

**

* * *

**

_Early March: Wednesday Morning_

**There Was This Girl You See**

Hotch's jaw twitched as he pushed his sunglasses a bit further up on his nose. Then he waved away a fly as he tipped his head back slightly to look across the mutilated corpse in front of him, to the very alive woman standing on the other side of it.

Emily.

She looked like she was going to be sick.

"Prentiss," he made an effort to catch her eyes through their two pairs of respective shades, "I think we should get some unofficial pictures now to preserve the scene before Forensics arrives. So," he jerked his thumb back to the SUV parked back on the roadside thirty feet behind them, "could you go get the camera, please."

Though in that moment Hotch was feeling anything but detached and professional, for the benefit of the sheriff and four deputies standing beside them, that was the tone that Hotch used as he spoke to the mother of his unborn child. It didn't matter if nobody else on the team was there, appearances still had to be upheld. As far as the local LEOs were concerned, he and Emily were just colleagues.

Nothing more.

Though it became even harder still to keep up his mask of professional detachment when he saw the flash of gratitude Emily sent him over the body. Then she gave him a quick nod and a tight smile . . . and he felt an additional stab of guilt.

_God, you're killing me sweetheart._

Though he didn't really think she blamed him for her circumstances . . . beyond of course the fact that it was his baby she was lugging around in there . . . it was entirely his fault that she was standing out here in the rising desert sun trying to keep down her breakfast. Here she was three months pregnant and he'd decided to drag her out to the new dump site with him rather than sending her off to look at the cold ones with Morgan and Dave. And why had he done that even though he knew that she'd been suffering from a horrible bout of morning sickness that day?

Because he was being overprotective.

Yeah . . . he watched her rubbing her stomach as she ducked under the just draped yellow tape . . . ironic, huh? But they were out in the desert . . . Death Valley to be precise, just outside of China Lake to be much more specific . . . and since they'd landed in this hellish region, he was terrified that she was going to get bitten or stung by one of the thousands of poisonous creatures that roamed this sandy terrain. And the cold sites Morgan and Dave were checking out . . . spread out all across what passed for civilization around here . . . were certainly no safer than where they were now.

They were all in the big wide . . . snake, spider and scorpion invested . . . open.

So Hotch's brilliant solution as to how to keep his girlfriend and their unborn child safe under these (personally) nightmarish circumstances, had been to simply keep her within arm's length for as close to twenty-four hours a day as he could manage. It wasn't much of a plan . . . it's not like he could "tackle" a scorpion . . . but it was the best he could do for his peace of mind.

Really the logic had seemed sound enough to him as he'd doled out assignments last night in the back room of the ranger's station. But now he could see that dragging Emily to the freshly discovered kill site at seven a.m, when she'd been up vomiting since five, had not been one of his soundest command decisions.

Not by half.

He should have just sent her off with JJ to get a complete bio on their newest victim. That would have been the best thing to do. Still though . . . with a sigh, Hotch reluctantly dragged his attention back to the mutilated female body in front of him . . . he'd meant well.

Of course the road to hell was paved by people that meant well too.

"Sheriff," Hotch turned to the solemn man to his left, "once Agent Prentiss is done with the photos we'll do a quick walk through the area and then head back to the station," his gaze shifted to take in the small contingent of deputies standing guard around the shiny yellow tape, "the FBI forensics team should be here within the hour. If you can just please keep guards posted until they're done? My people will supervise the collection of the body and any evidence in the area, but we could use the additional manpower all the same."

After the sheriff had given a slow nod of assent, and a "fine by me, Agent Hotchner," Hotch let out the breath he'd been holding. At least he wasn't going to have a fight with this man who was so clearly out of his depth of expertise.

Not that lack of knowledge or personal intelligence had ever stopped anyone from claiming a body in the past. People could be downright insane when it came to relinquishing professional authority. And Death Valley in particular was a nightmare for jurisdiction . . . Hotch ducked under the tape and started walking further into the desert . . . it was a national park straddling two sovereign U.S. states, a naval weapons station, an Air Force range and an Army base.

And now they had a serial killer.

One that was choosing victims . . . ten to date that they knew of . . . from all over the aforementioned regions of authority. The body dumps actually were so scattered that it had taken nearly a year for anyone to put together that they actually _had _a serial killer in their midst. Initially the missing . . . and then the dead . . . had been presumed to either be victims of random accidents or animals attacks.

Or both.

They didn't call it Death Valley for nothing.

But then finally somebody . . . Hotch was pretty sure that it was JJ . . . had the bright idea to put a batch of Academy freshman on a special class assignment. She suggested that they do a scavenger hunt through the southwest states to track missing bodies found against causes and manners of death listed. Not that JJ had necessarily had any inkling there was something going on down there, but . . . be it driving hundreds of miles down an Interstate, riding a multi-state train line, or working federal land clusters . . . serial killers tended to have a sixth sense when it came to taking advantage of jurisdictional loopholes. So lo and behold, there really hadn't been all that much surprise when the students had come back with a graph showing a spike of missing against unknown COD and MOD in the Death Valley region.

That was three weeks ago.

Hotch had immediately put in calls to the local base commanders and county coroners to get as much information as he could on the nature and determined manner of death. Those were much harder questions than he would have expected. In most instances the bodies had been dumped in locations sure to be quickly located by the locals . . . in that they were close enough to fairly well traveled byways to see the vultures circling . . . but also even more quickly located by the extremely carnivorous members of the animal population.

Basically everyone found . . . including the body today . . . had been half torn to shreds.

Still though, when Hotch got what was left of the bodies back to Quantico, their pathologist had found one common wound over and over again . . . a small bullet hole in the back of what was left of the skulls.

And that was one wound that nobody could blame on a coyote.

And it was a consistent wound for seven of the eight bodies they had onsite . . . the ninth head had never been found . . . so that was more than enough for Hotch to officially call it a serial. And given the federal land issue, they didn't need to wait for an official invitation from anyone before they began investigating.

Still though, at the time they put all the pieces together the case was a bit cool. No new bodies for a solid two months. But then yesterday it came up the wire that an enlisted sailor had gone missing from China Lake.

Petty Officer First Class Lori Doolittle.

Though it was uncharacteristic behavior for her, initially Doolittle had been listed as simply AWOL. But after a cursory search had turned up no signs of credit card use or contact with known friends or family . . . her husband and baby included . . . her base commander had determined that most likely something had happened and he decided to list her as officially "missing" with the civilian authorities as well.

That was thirty-six hours after she'd disappeared on the way back from a weekend leave with her family up in Reno.

Twenty-four hours later her car had been found on the side of a back road four miles from where they were now. All four tires had been blown, the driver's side window was shattered and there were blood specks on the seat and inside the car door. Basic scene reconstruction . . . not to mention a depressing number years of experience doing this job . . . told Hotch that the UNSUB had thrown down spike strips to blow her tires, and then when she'd either refused to get out of the car . . . or perhaps run back inside for safety when she realized what was happening . . . the window had been smashed out before she was forcibly removed from the vehicle and dragged off in the night.

It was not a pleasant scene to contemplate.

Of course . . . Hotch squinted at flash of color he saw half hidden behind a cactus fifteen feet away . . . none of his cases had ever posed a "pleasant" abduction scenario.

There was no such thing.

Even when the abduction was clean and bloodless, the team could always reconstruct, see that horrifying moment . . . the one where the victim suddenly realized that this horrible thing that only happened to other people, was now happening to them. And contemplating those moments for so many hundreds of lost souls had contributed to many of Hotch's sleepless nights. It was that surge of terror and panic that they knew followed time again. The knowledge that nobody was going to come for them, nobody was going to help them get away.

They were going to die screaming.

Young boys, teenage girls, prostitutes of both genders . . . they were their most common victim pools . . . the ones they tracked over and over again like a record from hell that they just couldn't stop playing. But still, for all their commonalties, as Hotch walked up to that lone cactus on that cool desert morning, he believed that every one of those cases was still heartbreaking in its own unique way.

And he could see now that the murder of Petty Officer Doolittle would be no different. Because as he stooped down to investigate the patch of color in the pale earth, Hotch's eyes began to sting. There was a brightly patterned cloth wallet laid open before him. One corner was half buried in the sand, but that corner and the one diagonal had been both pinned down with small rocks so the wallet wouldn't blow away in the wind storms the night before.

This was meant to be found.

Hotch's gloved hand came down to rest next to the picture of Petty Officer Doolittle sitting up in bed holding her baby daughter. A man . . . most likely her husband stationed out in California . . . had his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

They were both grinning from ear to ear.

The picture was clearly taken in the hospital, most likely hours after the birth. And now this baby . . . who Hotch knew from the file was not yet even old enough to crawl let alone speak . . . would never know her mother. And now Hotch was going to have to go back and tell this family that they would need to have a closed casket. He felt a surge of rage and impotence rise up.

God this job fucking SUCKED!

"Aaron."

Though part of his brain processed the voice as belonging to Emily, still Hotch jumped at the sound, and his hand immediately dropped to his sidearm as he leapt up.

"Hey," he said breathlessly as his fingers immediately fell down to hang by his side, "uh, are you uh, feeling any better?"

_Good paying attention asshole! You almost pulled a gun on Emily!_

Emily stood frozen for a moment as she watched his hand dangling next to the gun he'd almost yanked out. Then her gaze raked back up Hotch's body, seeing his chest pounding and the tension in his jaw.

Obviously she'd startled him, but it wasn't like Hotch to not be paying attention like that. And as her eyes locked on his sunglasses, she wished more than anything that she could see his eyes. She wanted to know what he was thinking.

But she was afraid to ask.

So instead she nodded slowly in response to his question. "A bit," her nose wrinkled slightly as her free hand fell to her stomach, "getting away from the smell for a few minutes helped." Then she started to take a step around him, "so what did you find here?"

Given how intently he'd been staring at the ground . . . to the point that he hadn't even registered her presence . . . Emily figured that it was probably something important. But as she went to look, Hotch immediately mirrored her movements, blocking her view.

"Just the victim's wallet," he said a little too quickly as he put his hand out for the camera in her hand, "it's getting buried in the sand so I'll get a couple photos and then bag it."

For a moment Emily held the camera back as she looked warily over at Hotch . . . she'd just been standing over this woman's gooey, shredded, fly covered corpse, so why the hell was he so worried about her looking at her wallet?

"What is it?" Emily asked softly, as she stood up slightly on her tiptoes to try and look over his shoulder, "what did he do to it? What don't you want me to see?"

Immediately moving again, Hotch slipped the Nikon from Emily's grasp, "nothing," he turned away from her, his voice fading slightly as his eyes again fell to the happy family in the hospital room.

"There's nothing special to see."

"Now," his head snapped around as he refocused on Emily with a hard look, "you be careful where you walk and what you touch," he pointed off to their left, "and pay particular care in that area. There's a snake trail running in the sand between those big rocks."

"Snake trail," Emily croaked as the mystery with the wallet was momentarily forgotten, "I don't like snakes," she said warily as she took a step closer to Hotch.

For as long as she could remember, Emily had HATED snakes. And ever since her first visit to Africa at the age of eleven, she had hated deserts too. They were Creepy, Crawler Central. And next to a jungle pretty much the worst place somebody with a snake phobia . . . someone like HER for instance . . . could imagine spending the day. So today she had snakes and mutilated corpses.

What a treat.

Seeing the tension on Emily's face as she moved into his space, Hotch's protective instincts immediately came peeking out from under the professional shell he'd been trying to keep hardened around him.

Every day that shell was getting more and more cracks.

"I know sweetheart," he whispered softly as his hand dropped to her shoulder, "I know. But like I said, just watch where you step, and stay away from the rocks. When the forensics team gets here they can use the equipment to do a closer check on the shady spots. Right now," he squeezed her shoulder, "we're just documenting the scene before the wind disturbs anything else. If it looks like it could blow away, we'll take a picture and bag it. If it's not going anywhere, leave it for official collection later, okay?"

Again, dragging his pregnant girlfriend with the snake phobia out to Death Valley, yep . . . Hotch's gaze shifted over her head to look over the bleak landscape around them . . . worst command decision ever.

Emily took a breath and then lifted her head to give Hotch a little . . . albeit slightly tight . . . smile.

"Okay."

Yes, she despised snakes . . . but that wasn't Hotch's fault. And she knew from his tone that he was feeling guilty about her being out here. And that was on _top_ of the guilt that she knew that he'd been feeling when he realized that she was about to upchuck on that poor woman's corpse. So if she didn't do something to reassure him . . . and more importantly _remind_ him . . . that she wasn't just his pregnant girlfriend, but also still a perfectly healthy, well trained . . . well armed . . . FBI agent. Hopefully once that thought was back in his head, then he would stop being distracted worrying about her, and start focusing exclusively on the case again like he was supposed to be doing. After all that's what she was doing right now.

Shaking off the personal stuff.

Yes, Hotchkin had been giving her a rough morning . . . she'd thrown up twice since the alarm went off . . . and yes, she'd much prefer to be back in Virginia right now having Hotch wait on her hand and foot as he always did when the baby woke her with a running trip to the bathroom.

But those were not viable options today.

Today they were on duty pretty much 24/7. So today she (they) were both . . . she patted Hotch's chest once before turning away . . . going to have to suck it up. And tonight . . . she slipped her pistol from the holster as she spotted another trail of sandy slithering . . . whenever the hell they off work, she was dragging Hotch into her room and getting in a good cuddle before she sent him off to his own bed. Sex on the road was of course not an option, but cuddling . . . her jaw twitched as she spotted the slitherer in question winding his way fifteen feet ahead of her . . . well, that would be nirvana.

Emily's trigger finger itched as she watched the rattlesnake moving further away towards the dunes. Of course she knew that he posed no threat to her at the moment, but still . . . she scowled when she lost him in the in the sun . . . he existed. And as far as reasons to fire went . . . that was good enough for her any day of the week.

More so today with the baby on board.

Still though . . . she reluctantly turned back to the job at hand, evaluating the scene . . . she knew that randomly using a "non-threatening" diamondback for target practice wasn't going to be particularly confidence inspiring for the locals.

She'd look like a nut. Or worse . . . a chick. So for the sake of her reputation, Emily slipped the safety back on the gun and began walking the grid.

Hotch's tension level slowly fell as he watched Emily's gun fall back to her side. Given there clearly wasn't an UNSUB anywhere in the vicinity, he was assuming it was a snake she'd just spotted. But seeing her refocused on the grid search, he figured that whatever danger she'd perceived had passed.

So with a weary sigh he slipped an evidence bag from his pocket and stooped down to pick up the wallet in the sand.

After he'd scooped it up and zipped the bag shut tight, Hotch placed a small yellow flag down in the white granules. He still wanted the area vacuumed for additional trace. Then he tucked the wallet into his windbreaker pocket and headed off in the opposite direction of Emily.

They walked the grid for ten more minutes, Hotch making sure that Emily was never farther than yelling distance away.

He'd given up on the scorpion tackle.

And just as he was about to call it . . . nothing else seemed to be scattered but the bones . . . that they'd let the Forensics team finish up when they arrived, Emily called out something that made Hotch's blood run cold.

"Something just bit me!"

_

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A/N 2: No notes, I'm too tired ;) We'll pick it up next time. _


	13. The Moments In The Desert

**Author's Note**: Totally random observation of the day, I was watching The Killing tonight and I suddenly realized that Billy Campbell and Thomas Gibson would pair up perfectly as brothers. Similar coloring, build . . . the cheekbones! And now I definitely want to somebody to make this fraternal pairing happen :) Unfortunately Campbell is too old to be Sean, but if I ever write an AU where Hotch has a brother of a similar age, I'm definitely "casting" him. And now we'll move away from the random musings that wander through my brain.

To this! We're picking up directly from the last chapter.

* * *

**The Moments In The Desert**

Hearing Emily's yell cut through him like a knife, Hotch spun around and raced across the sand, all the while trying to keep his panic from bubbling over. Her getting bit by something was his worst case scenario for this case! And here it had already happened on day ONE!

"What was it?" he asked frantically as he reached out to grab her shoulder. _"What_ bit you?"

Emily's head snapped up as she furiously scratched the red welt forming on the back of her hand.

"I don't know! I smacked at it and now it's gone."

Her worried gaze dropped to the desert floor, her eyes widening as she suddenly realized what had bitten her.

A red ant.

She could see dozens of them pouring out of the ground and starting to scurry up her leg.

"SHIT!" Emily cursed as she jumped out of the hole she'd inadvertently stepped into. And then in a slight frenzy she began brushing at the little lines of red soldiers marching up her boot and jean leg.

"Oh God!" Emily started to panic as she saw how many there were, "Hotch get them OFF me!"

Yes, she was freaking, and yes she needed to calm the fuck down. But first she needed to get these God damn ants OFF of her body! She knew that the one fire ant bite shouldn't hurt her or the baby, but she had no desire to find out what would happen to either of them if she was swarmed.

And that's what was happening right now.

"STOP!" Hotch yelled as he pushed Emily's hands away from the insects, "don't touch them! I'll get it!"

Fire ants . . . his jaw clenched as he began frantically brushing them off her jeans . . . just fucking great. He could tell from the grimace on Emily's face that the bite on her hand hurt as much as he'd heard they did, but he also knew that if she was going to get bitten by _anything_ out here, fire ants were the best of an otherwise horrifically bad list of options. And he knew this because he'd spent almost an hour of their five hour flight researching every likely creature or plant that they could stumble across in this particular desert, and then the degree of danger that particular flora or fauna posed to an otherwise healthy woman with child.

That slight bit of preparation was the only way he was going to keep his sanity on this trip. And he had learned that ONE fire ant bite . . . and thank God it appeared to be just the one . . . shouldn't cause any actual harm to her or the baby. Not unless she had an allergic reaction, and she didn't appear to be showing any signs of anaphylaxis, so basically the little bastards just hurt.

But hopefully the pain would start to fade as soon as they got the bite cleaned up.

So once Hotch had triple checked that all of the little red insects had been wiped from Emily's clothing . . . quietly cursing as he got two of his own matching bites in the process . . . he stood up and took Emily's hand in his. Then he gently ran his thumb around the edges of the bright red wound.

"Does it hurt much?" He asked softly as his gaze lifted to hers.

Hotch was just thanking whatever deity watched over them that she'd remembered to tuck her jeans into her boots today. That and the layers she'd worn to ward off the desert chill, had kept pretty much all of them off of her skin.

It was probably just a scout that had scurried onto her hand.

"Probably as much as yours does," Emily replied with a pained smile. Then she huffed as her fingers ghosted around the similar wounds on the side of his hand.

"I really don't think we're desert folk Aaron."

Though Emily was trying to lighten the mood, and keep the emotion out of her voice . . . in actuality she was on the verge of tears. As Hotch had removed the ants from her clothing, she'd slowly begun to calm down. She was okay, the baby was okay, Hotch was okay. Everything was good. And initially that was all that mattered to her. But then her mind started to process a different scenario.

A much worse one.

This was wild country. Anything could pop up at anytime. That's when she realized that she could have been bitten by a scorpion, or a spider.

Or even a snake.

Yes . . . her stomach clenched as she pictured that scenario . . . she could have just as easily put her boot in a snake hole as an ant hole. To her very untrained eye, all these little nooks and crannies out here looked exactly the same. And her baby wouldn't have stood a chance if she'd just taken a shot of venom from a North American rattlesnake. After all, she was still only in her first trimester.

She probably would have lost Hotchkin.

Suddenly feeling sick to her stomach at that . . . not at all unlikely scenario . . . all Emily wanted to do was take Hotch and go home.

Just go back to Virginia and stay there.

God . . . her eyes started to sting as she stared down at her hand in his . . . how was she going to keep working in her condition? This was of course a question that she'd asked of herself when she first found out she was pregnant, but back then she hadn't truly considered . . . or anticipated . . . all the myriad dangers of her job. Back then . . . mere weeks ago . . . she was just worried about the UNSUBs. The tackling, the car chases, the knives and the guns.

But she could avoid those things.

Or at least she could avoid placing herself directly into the worst of those situations. Though she was technically still fully functional for all grades of field work . . . and she truly had not wanted to be benched . . . Hotch had been making a point of finding something a bit safer for her to do . . . like coordinate ops communication . . . while he and Morgan and Dave took physical point with the entry teams.

So though she was still in the field . . . still in the game . . . it was unlikely that she'd be taking any roundhouse kicks to the gut anytime soon.

Like Morgan had just last week.

So in that respect . . . as it related to her duties in the field . . . thus far things had been going just fine. And because Hotch did have control over her assigned duties, it had actually been easier working with the father of her child than she might have thought it would be.

Until today of course.

But now, with this new . . . previously unforeseen . . . danger, she was seeing not only a new set of problems for herself, but also for Hotch. She could see how hard this was for him having her out here.

And by extension how bad having her out here was for their whole team dynamic.

Because she knew from the intensity of Hotch's gaze, in the way that he was running his thumb along her wrist long passed the point where he should have let her go . . . that when she'd screamed for him, in that moment he had ceased being her chief. Now he was the man that shared her bed for more than half the week.

Now he was Hotchkin's daddy.

And that was a real problem. Because right now he couldn't be Hotchkin's daddy. They were in the middle of a crime scene, there were local law enforcement not thirty feet away watching to see what the almighty feds were doing with their psychic powers . . . and here she and Hotch were having a moment. A very unprofessional . . . her heart ached as she saw the raw emotion in his eyes . . . unbelievably sweet and loving moment, that they absolutely should _not _be having right now!

It was wrong. And she knew that Hotch knew it too.

And for a moment when she saw his jaw start to twitch, she felt a cold stab of fear, believing that he was going to say the one thing that she was most terrified of hearing.

I don't think this relationship is going to work.

But thank God he didn't.

Whatever words were on the tip of his tongue stayed there. And instead his expression softened ever so slightly as he let go of her wrist. Then he moved his hand up to her shoulder, turned, and began guiding her back towards the SUV.

"Forensics will be here soon," Hotch said softly, "they can finish up. You and I are going to the base clinic at China Lake."

Relatively innocuous bite or note, she needed to be checked out ASAP.

Momentarily putting aside her relationship worries aside for another jolt of physical panic, Emily's head snapped up to look at Hotch.

"But it was just one fire ant. And I thought we agreed that the site said that they weren't dangerous?"

Did he know something else that he hadn't shared with her last night?

"Yes," Hotch didn't break stride as he tried to keep his tone even, "that's what it said. But I'm not about to risk your health or Hotchkin's based on my forty-five minutes of crash course desert review, only perhaps five of which maybe I spent reading up on the ant bites. What if I missed something?"

Feeling Emily's entire body tense up at his response . . . at the fear that the bite was possibly harmful and that the baby could be in danger . . . Hotch winced at his lack of tact. And wishing he could pull her into a hug . . . and knowing that was out of the question . . . he settled for lightly squeezing her shoulder in an effort to calm her nerves.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he whispered softly as they approached the group of officers, "I don't mean to scare you. I'm not really that worried about the toxicity of the bite, I'm just being overly cautious. Given the terrain, the doctors around here have to be de facto experts on these things, so I'd rather have one of them tell us live and in person that everything's perfectly fine rather than us just assuming it is based on a website link. Doesn't that make much more sense?"

He didn't want to unnecessarily frighten her . . . the stress wasn't good for her or the baby . . . but he also knew that there was no way that he'd be able to focus on anything else until the two of them had been checked out and he was sure that she and Hotchkin would suffer no ill effects from that ant bite.

"Yeah," Emily bit her lip, calming slightly at his logic as they walked up to the yellow tape, "yeah, you're right. That makes much more sense."

Hotch's argument was sound . . . his arguments were always sound. And though that in and of itself made her feel better . . . just knowing how capable he was, and that he focused so much of his attention now on caring for her and the baby . . . it also in an unexpected way, made her feel worse about the situation. It wasn't fear for her health, but instead a wave of inadequacy that washed over her.

It was the second time that she'd felt this way in the past twelve hours.

The first time had been last night when Hotch had shown up at her cabin after the team meeting and told her all the research that he'd done on the plane. Then as he settled in on the bed with his case notes, he passed her his laptop and told her to review the bookmarks he'd tagged so she'd know what to watch out for in the desert. And though his gesture had been loving and sweet . . . and she'd told him as such as she gave him a thank you kiss . . . all she could think as she pulled away from him was, why hadn't she thought to do that?

Why didn't she do any research on the plane?

Really, until that moment when Hotch had handed her the laptop, it hadn't even occurred to Emily to worry about a trip to the desert beyond the snakes. That was her personal phobia, and that was the one thing that had popped into her mind when she'd heard they were going to Death Valley.

Snakebites.

But Hotch had looked far beyond that one danger to anticipate . . . and painstakingly research . . . all of the others. And that quality in him . . . that single minded focus he displayed in how he took care of her and their unborn child . . . was one of the reasons that she was falling in love with him. And that was just one of the reasons that she knew he was going to make such a great father when their baby was finally born.

But what kind of parent was she going to be?

She wrapped her arms around herself as they walked up to the sheriff . . . she just didn't know. There was still so much she needed to learn. Ways that she needed to expand her mind. To start thinking not just about herself . . . as she had as a motherless, petless singleton for the last thirty-nine years . . . but also now her little emerging family. Her thoughts . . . her outlook on the world . . . needed to now be what was best for _all_ of them. Not just what was best for her.

And that was a major shift of self.

So as she stood there outwardly patient as Hotch explained to the sheriff that they were leaving, inwardly she was wondering if she was up to this momentous task that he seemed to take on with such ease.

She was almost jealous.

But then she reminded herself that Hotch wasn't new to this life. After all this time . . . twenty years of marriage and three years of fatherhood . . . having a family to look after had to be second nature to him now. So maybe it was just going to take her a little longer to adjust . . . she rubbed at her bite nervously . . . but hopefully by the time Hotchkin was born she'd have gotten the hang of all this.

Hopefully.

After all, she wasn't a stupid person, and she was basically a thoughtful, caring human being, so she just needed to start being a bit more aware of things beyond this little shell that she'd always lived within. Really . . . she stepped away from Hotch and the sheriff as they started discussing logistics for patrols that day . . . she just needed to start breaking down the shell completely. She needed to start living her life with Hotch . . . she started walking towards the SUV . . . not just as a couple building a relationship, but as a parental unit building a family. Because that's clearly how Hotch already was approaching this situation . . . as a de facto husband and father.

And that's why he was always two steps ahead of her.

Okay . . . she swallowed hard as she stopped by the black Suburban . . . she could do this. If he could be a good (responsible) dad this early on, then she could be a good mom too . . . she turned to face Hotch walking across the sand . . . she just had to try harder. She could stay in the field, keep Hotchkin safe, and still make things work with Hotch.

She could.

Okay . . . she felt a trickle of doubt rise up . . . that was a lot to pull together when she had zero experience with being a mom or having a successful long term relationship. But she wanted this family more than anything. Hotch was her guy, she was sure of it. She had a connection with him that she'd never had with anyone else before . . . he was the one that she was supposed to find. And he was the one that was supposed to father her baby.

This was all meant to be.

And as he walked up to the SUV with the keys dangling from his hand, she reached out and took them.

"I'll drive," she said with a tight smile, "you call the base and get us cleared to get into the clinic."

Again, she was going to make this work. And that meant that their personal situation . . . the one which necessitated them stopping a serial murder investigation so she could go get a bug bite cleaned out . . . needed to be handled as professionally and efficiently as possible. And non military personnel asking to have relatively minor wounds dressed in a Navy clinic was a general breach of protocol that they needed smoothed over quickly. As federal agents investigating the death of one of their sailors, they'd get some consideration at China Lake. But Hotch's rank would get them the through the red tape much more quickly than hers would.

She'd get the XO, Hotch would get the CO.

Hotch stared at Emily for a moment before he tipped his head slightly.

"Right."

Instinctively he wanted to tell her no, he'd drive, she should rest . . . but that was stupid. She had a bug bite. Hell he had two of them and they were both throbbing like they had their own pulse. So of the pair, barring his personal concerns about the baby's condition, Emily was probably in the better physical shape at the moment.

She was certainly in less physical pain anyway.

So Hotch knew that he again needed to push their intimate relationship aside and just pretend things were like they used to be.

Back when she wasn't becoming his whole world.

So he circled around to the passenger side, already pulling out his phone as he climbed into the SUV. And as Emily slipped the keys into the ignition he was scrolling through his contacts to pull up the number that he'd called repeatedly over the last few weeks.

Commander Eastman.

He hit the number as Emily did a U-Turn heading back in the direction they'd come from earlier that morning. And as the Commander's voice came into Hotch's ear asking if there was any news on Petty Officer Doolittle, he reached over with his good hand to tangle his fingers with Emily's.

Just because he knew he needed to pretend like things were like they used to be didn't mean that he wouldn't take these few minutes alone to reassure . . . both of them . . . that the baby was all right. And as the SUV sped down the road Hotch took a breath.

"Yes sir, there is, and I'll be stopping by your office shortly to brief you. But also Commander," Hotch's fingers tightened around Emily's, "I need to ask a favor."

/*/*/*/*/

Hotch paced anxiously back and forth in the small waiting area of the navy clinic. A few minutes ago the nurse had finished cleaning out his bites and putting Neosporin on his hand. Then as she'd walked him back out front she'd handed him an ice pack, telling him to hold it there until the swelling went down.

He held it there for about thirty seconds . . . the length of time it took the nurse to disappear back down the hallway . . . and then it had fallen onto one of the plastic waiting room chairs. Really, he felt fine . . . well, much better than he had when he'd first gotten bitten . . . and the swelling was minimal so the freezing cold ice pack was basically just pissing him off.

And he was pissed off enough already.

They wouldn't tell him what was happening with Emily. Not that he thought they were keeping something from him . . . he anxiously made another turn across the freshly waxed floor . . . it was just that her exam was taking three times longer than his had, and that was scaring the shit out of him.

And maybe if he could have told these nice people that were just doing their jobs that she was _his_ girlfriend and that was _his_ baby, then they might have been giving his anxiety just a sliver's more consideration. As it was, he was just ranked as her partner at best.

At best.

And the general staff working obviously didn't all know that Emily was pregnant, they just knew that the two FBI agents investigating Petty Officer Doolittle's disappearance . . . her murder was yet unannounced . . . had run into a nest of fire ants out in the desert. Neither of them were in respiratory distress so really nobody had been all that concerned about them when they'd walked in the door. Hell, Hotch hadn't even seen a doctor! Just the one nurse.

Emily had been sent in to see a doctor though. He knew that much.

But that was it.

And now Hotch's desert panic was creeping up again. The nurse had finished up with him almost ten minutes ago. So how long should it really be taking for the doctor to finish checking over Emily? If everything was okay, then it seemed like she'd be in and out.

"Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch spun around as he heard his name being called from across the room.

"What is it?" He hurried over to the nurse who had taken Emily to the other exam room, "is Agent Prentiss okay?"

"Agent Prentiss is fine," the nurse responded with a little smile, "but she's asking for you. So," the woman put her arm up, "right down the hall there. Third door. The doctor's still in there but you can go right in."

The woman hadn't even finished getting the words out of her mouth before Hotch was nodding and moving passed her.

"Thank you," he called back over his shoulder as he hurried down the short hallway, pausing to knock once on the door before he poked his head around the corner.

"Emily?" Hotch's eyes widened when he saw her lying on the exam table, "is everything all right?"

Just because the nurse said it didn't mean he'd believed it.

Hearing the worry in Hotch's tone, as Emily turned her head she made sure to give him a reassuring smile.

"I'm okay Aaron. Captain Nichols already cleaned up my hand," she raised it to show him the bandage, "and checked all my vitals. But he thought given the stress of the morning that maybe we should check the baby," she put her hand out and wriggled her fingers, "so come here," she gestured to the monitor.

"Hotchkin's about to make his television debut in the great state of Nevada," her lip quirked up, "and I thought you might like to be here for that."

She was quite sure that he'd want to be there for that. He told her he wanted to be there for everything. And given how awful this case was, there was no way that she'd deny him the opportunity for this little bit of normalcy in the middle of hell.

But as Emily saw Hotch's eyes widen slightly in alarm she realized what his worry was . . . being outed. Especially given they were working a case at this same base. So she gestured towards the doctor as her eyes shot to the end of the table.

"Don't worry. The captain has assured me our secret is safe with him, right doctor?"

"Right," the captain nodded firmly as he tipped his head towards Emily, "so come on in Agent Hotchner."

Though Emily knew that Hotch had hoped not to disclose his status as the baby's father, as soon as the nurse had come in . . . with an amused smile . . . to tell Emily that her colleague was pacing a hole in the floor, their little secret had obviously been blown. The doctor had huffed in amusement before asking Emily if she'd like "dad" to come down for the rest of their conversation. Emily had immediately said yes, but asked if they could please consider both her condition, and their relationship, a private matter.

The captain and the lieutenant had both agreed. The captain assuring her that as she and Hotch weren't military, that he had no obligations to report any chain of command issues.

Their business was their business and their secret was safe with them.

Emily had breathed a sigh of relief. Granted these people were unlikely to be talking to anybody back home, but they might still end up having an interview with somebody else on the team . . . somebody on the clinic might have known Doolittle . . . and dear God would that have been a DISASTER if somebody had spilled the beans then!

Now though . . . Hotch shot her a look as he crossed the room . . . Emily was sure that their secret would stay safe. And that meant that as she slipped her hand into Hotch's that she could think of no earthly reason that he shouldn't be with her for this part of the exam.

Again . . . his fingers curled around hers . . . it was his baby too.

Hotch squeezed Emily's hand as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "you're sure you're feeling okay?"

Though Hotch knew it was a bit rude to be whispering in front of the doctor, he didn't much care to have a personal discussion with his girlfriend in front of anybody.

Emily nodded as she whispered back. "I promise Aaron, I feel just fine. And my hand hardly hurts at all now." Then her voice went up slightly, "plus the doctor said that it's just like you thought, one bite won't cause the baby any harm."

Seeing his opening, Captain Nichols nodded as Agent Hotchner turned his way.

"Yes, that is correct Agent Hotchner. Your baby shouldn't suffer any ill effects from that bite. But," he picked up the wand, "I understand the whole event was a bit stressful for mom so we're just doing a quick sonogram to make sure everything's tip top. So," he pointed to the stool behind Emily's head, "why don't you grab a seat and we'll take a look here."

As the doctor picked up the gel, and Emily lifted her shirt . . . feeling slightly dazed, Hotch reached over to grab the stool. He felt like he was having an out of body experience. He and Emily had just come from a terrible crime scene . . . the horrific murder of a young mother . . . and now here they were in the throes of domesticity, about to see their own child for the first time.

Surreal didn't even begin to cover it.

Actually Emily's first sonogram was scheduled for next week, but now . . . Hotch's jaw clenched slightly as the doctor placed the gel on Emily's stomach . . . here they were. And as he sat there watching as the doctor turned on the monitor, and then turned back to press the wand down on Emily's abdomen, Hotch had a moment of . . . he wasn't quite sure what it was.

But he really wished he wasn't having it in this medical clinic out in the middle of the desert.

Emily again slipped her hand into Hotch's, tugging him back down slightly so she could whisper in his ear.

"If he asks, did you want to find out the sex yet?"

Given the impending sonogram, this was a conversation that she'd been planning on having with Hotch this weekend. But her little incident in the desert had just pushed up that timetable. She really didn't want to know, but she didn't want to ruin the moment for him if he did.

Again, their baby . . . not just hers.

Hotch's expression softened as he looked down at Emily's worried brow.

"I like surprises," he whispered back.

Actually he hated surprises (for obviously reasons) in pretty much all aspects of his work life. But when it came to finding out the sex of his children . . . he was okay with waiting. And he could tell from the way Emily was biting her lip . . . she didn't want to know. And sure enough, the words had barely passed his lips before her eyes lit up.

"Me too," she said softly. And as Emily's warm breath touched his skin, Hotch had to resist the desire . . . urge, need, all of those verbs had started running together now . . . to lean down and kiss her. Though for most people this was a perfectly acceptable place to show affection . . . it wasn't for them.

They were still on duty.

And considerations for that had to be made. So holding her hand would have to suffice . . . he felt a stab of guilt and regret as her eyes locked with his . . . he'd make it up to her later.

Emily's gaze fell away from Hotch's, down to the table, and then back to the doctor still fiddling with the knobs. She felt Hotch squeeze her fingers as she sent up a silent prayer for the baby to be just fine. Then she slowly let out her breath.

"Ready when you are Captain."

* * *

_A/N 2: Not really a major cliffhanger there, but still a good point to cut the scene. I said three or four chapters for this story arc, but I'm thinking it might go a bit longer. I think I said I'm trying not to box myself in with this story (it'll stress me out if I do) because it's kind of "Girl Take 2" in that it's them from the beginning of their relationship to the point of an event. Hotchkin's birth. So as we learned from Girl Proper, letting it take as long as it takes is ultimately the more gratifying approach. Therefore we'll be moving to the nitty gritty of what I'd planned for this arc next chapter. This ended up being more relationship angst than I'd originally thought it would be, but all the stuff with their respective whirling emotions kind of took on a life of it's own. _

_Speaking of, given what an anal retentive, Type A worrier Hotch is, I thought it totally made sense that he would have gone out of his way to research potential desert dangers as they related to Emily and the baby. Not only did that seem to fit for his personality in general, but clearly, even if they aren't a formalized unit yet, that's his family and he's going to be hyper aware of any dangers to them. But then on the flip side, I saw Emily as seeing that action from him, though sweet, as also something that would make her feel badly. They're not wired the same, she isn't already a parent like he is and used to thinking about dangers as they relate to her children and not just herself. And for yourself, really, you tend to walk around with those blinders on all the time that you've survived this long on the planet, so most likely you'll be just fine. And as this is much earlier in the Girl'verse, Emily didn't get to practice date Hotch or practice parent Jack before they settled in together. She's just a single career woman working in a man's world. She's not girly, she has no baby experience, no pets and no long term relationships. And now suddenly out of the blue she's got a full time (or ¾ time) guy and a kid on the way. It seemed remiss to not cover the mental adjustment that would be for someone like her at this point in her life. Especially when she sees how much more instinctual divorced dad Hotch is at everything than she is. It's going to be a little bumpy._

_I took some liberties with China Lake. It's actually one of the largest naval stations, over a million acres of land, mostly situated in California, but for convenience purposes here, I put a small base clinic in the general vicinity of this section of the Mojave desert. God knows, they might actually have a med center in that area, but either way, just go with it :)_

_More postings tomorrow. Or later today. God knows what time it is but I think I hear birds chirping._


	14. A Rumor Of Love And A Decision To Regret

**Author's Note:**

**The Skip It If You Know It, Twitter Announcement: **

_**Set up new account for writing: ffsienna27**__._ This is going on all postings for a bit because I have some variation of readers on different stories. And this is a copy/paste thing now because I don't want to use up all those fancy creative juices in the A/N.

So yes, I wanted to have another way to reach people beyond the 'known to crash and delay notifications for no reason,' FF messaging system. The twitter is mostly story update announcements, probably a bit of the randomness that is my brain. And if you're this far along in any of my stories, you should be familiar with the randomness by now :)

And actually, whether you realize it or not, the messaging is currently delayed. It's been three hours since I posted Horses and I still don't have my own 'new chapter' email. So the twitter has already proven it's usefulness. Thanks FF for proving my point!

**Back to my ball juggling**. Just a reminder here 'timeline wise' as to where we are in the Girl character evolution of H/Ps personal baggage. Their personal relationship is still very new, and all the little hang-ups pulled from canon that they'd started to work through (in fanon) by the time they got together in later versions, are still very much present in this one. Previously in this story arc we hit on some things with Emily, this time we're using the pokey stick on Hotch.

* * *

**A Rumor Of Love . . . And A Decision To Regret**

Hotch's gaze fell sightlessly down to the phone in his hand as Emily moved over to the sink to wash the remnants of the blue gel from her stomach.

They'd finished the ultrasound a moment before, and everything was as hoped for, just fine. So after a quick reminder to Emily to keep her ant bite clean and dry, the doctor had stepped out to let her freshen up. And Hotch should have been thrilled to have this minute alone with Emily . . . a minute where they could perhaps engage in a true personal connection over their impending parenthood, rather than a muted, professionally distant one. But instead a wave of melancholy was lapping away at him, eroding what should have been a joyous moment. And it was killing him because he knew that it was a moment that he wouldn't get back.

The day that they saw their unborn child for the first time.

When those grainy images had first appeared on the screen, Hotch's eyes had begun to burn. He'd immediately been filled with a wave of genuine love for Emily . . . an emotion that he had not yet allowed himself to feel for her . . . but also there was a pure joy in his heart to see the new life that they had created. It was a wonderful miracle, a beautiful counterbalance to the horrors of their day so far. It was all of those things and more.

For just a second.

Then all of his joy and happiness was ruthlessly repressed. Because he remembered where he was.

In public.

Hotch had never in his life . . . at least not as far back as his memories went . . . felt comfortable displaying his true emotions in front of others. It all went back to first an emotionally rigid alcoholic father, and then a physically abusive stepfather. Both men considered a display of genuine emotion to be a display of your weaknesses.

Repression was the only way to survive.

And over the years with Haley, Hotch had worked to be better, to be more open than how he'd been raised. In some ways . . . in the few areas where he could open his heart to his wife . . . he had succeeded. He could be demonstratively affectionate to his loved ones without any problem . . . he didn't have any problems hugging or kissing his wife and child. He could even kiss Haley in public.

A little thing for most people, but a big one for him.

And sometimes . . . if the stars were aligned just right . . . he could laugh and smile like a regular person. But of course those days had never come back to back. And then day his wife had gone away and taken his boy. And in that moment with the ultrasound where he automatically shut down and repressed all of his joy, he began to wonder for the thousandth time. Was that part of why Haley had left?

Was he really that fucked up?

And then a second later . . . as he saw Emily's brilliant smile as she pointed to the screen . . . he'd suddenly flashed on the day he'd come home from Milwaukee to find that note.

The one where Haley told him it was over.

And then . . . where a few moments before Hotch had been filled with happiness and joy at the images on the screen . . . those emotions were replaced with a growing dread and despair as he wondered if he was up to this challenge. If this time he could be a truly open and loving father and husband.

Or would he fail this family too?

And really . . . his teeth sunk into his lower lip . . . what kind of a future did he and Emily have if their child's first introduction to the world was as a result of a mishap at a crime scene for a dead wife and mother? He sighed.

Christ, they couldn't even get to the first ultrasound . . . hell, to the first _trimester_ . . . without this job screwing things up. Hotch's gaze drifted over to Emily slipping on her holster . . . this was all wrong.

"I'm sorry."

Hotch's voice was so soft, that for a second Emily wasn't sure what it was that he'd said. Then her eyes widened as she paused in straightening her belt to look over at him in surprise.

"Why are you sorry?"

Personally, Emily was operating at a slightly tempered 'over the moon' and she'd rather expected that Hotch would be too. But then she saw the sadness on his face and she felt a pang in her heart . . . why was he so unhappy? And then he raised his hand and gestured to the room.

"I'm sorry for this. For the job ruining this first moment for you. We should have been home, you should have been with your own doctor, and we should have been off duty. This was all wrong. You deserved better," his gaze dropped down to her stomach as his voice faded, "you both did."

He'd promised himself that this time it would be different, and he was afraid that already he by his emotional repression . . . and this job by it's emotional _oppression_ . . . were fucking things up.

Emily's jaw fell open . . . and then snapped shut.

"Aaron," she whispered in disbelief as she crossed over to him, "how could you think for even a second that this moment was ruined?" She stopped in front of him and reached over to take his hand.

"You gave me this," she squeezed his fingers as she placed them on the slight swell of her stomach, "that's all that matters. The rest of it," her free hand waved spiritlessly around, "it's nothing. It was just the set," she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. "This is the story," she murmured as she pulled away, "and the story is what makes me so happy."

Seeing Hotch's expression was lightening a bit, Emily leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck. Then she pulled him close.

"So," she whispered in his ear, "you stop beating yourself up over this one. After all it's my job too. And regardless of the circumstances, today we got to see our baby for the first time," Emily's eyes fell shut as Hotch's arms finally encircled her, "and the doctor said that Hotchkin's healthy and perfect and that's all I'm going to remember about today. How happy I was, and how happy I was that you were here with me. That's what I'm taking with me from this clinic," she turned her head slightly to kiss his neck, "and that's all you should too."

There was so much heaviness on his heart, so much blame and guilt he still carried from the divorce. And though Emily knew that it wasn't all his ex-wife's fault that he felt that way, still, some days, she wanted to smack Haley senseless. The Hotch displayed to the world was a good, fine man. And as Emily had learned over the last couple months, in his personal life, he was also a loving and sweet romantic partner. So he most certainly did _not_ deserve to walk through life thinking that the demise of a twenty-year marriage was entirely his fault.

_That_ was utter bullshit.

Obviously though . . . as had been picked up on from the one sided phone conversations Emily had overheard between Hotch and his ex . . . Haley did not necessarily agree with Emily's sentiments on this point.

Again . . . Emily squeezed Hotch closer . . . smack the bitch senseless.

Hearing Emily's surprisingly complete and utter absolution of him and his own perceived failings as person . . . and a man . . . Hotch felt a burst of warmth in his heart. Then he blinked away the tears suddenly stinging his eyes.

"Sweetheart, I . . . I . . ."

The sentence was a stammered whisper. And then he stopped even trying to put his emotions into words. There were no words. So instead he pulled Emily closer, trying to hold onto what he was feeling in that moment.

He wanted to remember it, to keep it with him as an image to pull up when those residual waves of guilt and inadequacy from his lost family, started to taint this new one. So little time had passed . . . less than a year since he'd found the note on the mirror . . . that Hotch knew that in many ways he was still the same man that Haley had left.

And sometimes that scared the hell out of him.

Because for all the things he tried to work on, there were also things about himself that he knew that he could never really change. His emotional repression, his bouts of melancholy, his innate workaholic tendencies, and his occasional obsessiveness when it came to his extremely dark . . . extremely disturbing . . . profession.

And then of course there was his temper.

That last one he'd hidden pretty well from Haley. But all of those other things were what his ex had grown to resent.

Despise.

They had become deal breakers. And as much as Hotch hoped . . . and was so often hopeful about . . . this new family that he was building, there were also true and genuine fears there. His worries that at some point in the future, Emily would start to see the things that Haley had.

That at some point she too would decide to leave.

And if that happened, then not only would he lose her . . . the woman he was becoming convinced would be his next great love . . . but yet another child would also be taken from him. Those were the fears that would wake him up in a cold sweat.

But then something like this would happen.

Something that would push all of his anxieties away with just a whisper from the woman in his arms. In that instant she made him see the world in a new way.

Her way.

And Emily's way of looking at the world was wonderful. She brought a new light to chase away the dark shadows in his heart. Nobody had ever done that for him before.

Not even Haley at their best.

So even though they needed to go back to work . . . as always, there was a killer to find . . . Hotch took just a few more seconds with the woman in his arms. After a minute though, he knew it was time to let go . . . it was time to go back to their world again. But as he slowly loosened his grasp, he tipped his head back to give her a soft smile.

"You're becoming my best friend, you know?"

It was true. And it was as close to _'I'm falling in love with you' _as he felt he could get to on that day. That would be for another day.

A day when they didn't have the cloying scent of decay on their clothes.

At Hotch's very unexpected . . . and incredibly sweet . . . disclosure, tears immediately sprang to Emily's eyes.

"Really?" She asked in surprise.

"Most definitely," Hotch's lip quirked up slightly as his fingers brushed through her hair, "you make my world a better place. And when we get home I think it's time that we made arrangements to go visit my mother. How's that sound?"

It was time to start blending his worlds. They'd been working hard to move things forward, to cover all the ground that most couples would have in a normal 'date based' relationship. And Hotch could say without a doubt that their romantic relationship was ten times more grounded . . . and emotionally intimate . . . than it had been on the day that they'd discovered they were going to be parents. And when it came to his mother, though Hotch knew his divorce still somewhat rankled . . . as evidenced by the years of abuse she tolerated from her second husband, her generation didn't really 'get' divorced . . . still, he thought the earlier the introduction the better.

Basically it needed to be done before Emily started showing.

And if they did it now, she'd just be a new "friend." Then later . . . early in the third trimester perhaps . . . Hotch could mention the baby on the way. Then he could just announce later that it came a bit early.

It would save his mother thinking of Emily as a harlot.

"That sounds just," Emily cleared her throat to push down the little sob that started to bubble up, "just wonderful."

Then she quickly buried her face in Hotch's windbreaker before she started crying . . . damn hormones. Still though . . . she blinked away the moisture in her eyes . . . meeting his mom, they were moving to a new level.

A new commitment.

But she didn't want to get too emotional about it now . . . as she'd been telling herself all morning . . . it wasn't the time. So when she tipped her head back to look up at Hotch, her eyes were only slightly moist as she raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"So do you want to get a set of those BFF heart pendants? We could wear them on our ID lanyards."

Always best to lighten the mood.

Hotch's lips twitched faintly as he started guiding Emily towards the door.

"Perhaps for Christmas."

/*/*/*/*/

Almost seven hours later . . . a little before three pm . . . Hotch was standing in the middle of the small sheriff's outpost trying to lead an overview on the type of killer that would be perpetrating these crimes. And the reason that he was _trying_ to lead an overview, rather than simply DOING it, was that he was having a bit of a personal problem. Reid had dropped a box on his hand.

His ant bitten hand.

Before they left the clinic, both the doctor and the nurse had assured them that once the bites were cleaned out that their hands shouldn't cause them anymore . . . major . . . difficulties or distractions. But what they'd neglected to mention was that if somebody dropped a fifteen pound dead weight on their bad hands that they'd be ready to give up state secrets.

Honest to Chris his eyes were stinging!

Of course this happened _just_ before they'd sat the locals down . . . Reid was moving the files to make room for people to sit . . . so Hotch didn't even have a few minutes to go off and curse by himself. And though Hotch's self control was quite rigid . . . and he knew the pain would pass soon enough . . . still, even he was having some issues keeping a poker face.

The involuntary quivering of his hand wasn't helping.

Nor was his need to keep pausing for essentially no reason . . . in actuality sucking in a breath to keep his composure. Every time it happened, Hotch could see the rest of the team (only Reid and Emily knew what had happened) look over at him in alarm.

He was pretty sure that they thought he was having a heart attack.

Emily though . . . his eyes briefly made contact with hers across the small room . . . she knew what the real problem was. He could see her lips pursed in sympathy, and he wanted to tell her, "it's okay, don't worry sweetheart. I'm fine," but obviously he could _not_ do that.

It was neither the time nor the place.

And simply the fact that he was distracted with such a domestic thought at that moment . . . reassuring his girlfriend so she'd stop worrying . . . was just another indicator that perhaps working together was going to be a bit more of a challenge than he'd originally calculated.

It seemed . . . he took another shallow breath as he changed topic . . . like things always were.

/*/*/*/*

Emily watched in sympathy as Hotch bit down on his lip one more time right before he moved into the last piece of their initial profile. They were down to loner family history . . . and fortunately that one was Derek's forte . . . so as soon as he got the nod from Hotch, Morgan stood up and walked over to their makeshift white board . . . it was actually a corkboard with lined paper on it . . . immediately outlining the likely upbringing of this particular sociopath.

And as Morgan took the majority of the room's attention . . . Reid was still clearly wringing his hands in guilt at what he'd done to Hotch . . . Emily noted that Hotch himself stepped first off to the side, and then quietly slipped towards the back of the room.

Their eyes caught as he headed towards the door.

Emily waited ten seconds . . . just enough time for the door to fall shut . . . before she pushed herself off the wall and followed after him. She knew that Rossi at least . . . probably Morgan as well, the man could multi-task with the best of them . . . were taking note of her exit. But she didn't much care.

Hotch was clearly in pain . . . she quietly slipped through the back exit . . . and she needed to check on him.

That's all that mattered.

/*/*/*/*

Hearing footsteps coming from around the corner of the small wooden structure, Hotch lifted his head from his chest just in time to see Emily's face appear.

"Oh Aaron," she murmured in sympathy as she saw him cradling his hand to his chest, "are you all right?"

"Yeah," for her he was able to manage a tight smile as he reached out with his good hand to quickly squeeze her fingers, "it's still throbbing but it's not quite so bad as it was when Reid dropped the box on it. So really Emily, please don't worry," Hotch let out a slow breath as she took his clenched hand away from his chest, "I'll be just fine in a bit."

Though it was a relatively minor setback, Hotch knew that Emily didn't even need that much more stress today.

There had been more than enough already.

Emily looked down at Hotch's slightly swollen hand in hers, and then back up again to gauge if he was indeed telling the truth about his condition.

Her brow wrinkled as she took in his tight features . . . he appeared to be.

And as she looked back down and gently turned his hand over in hers, she could see that the bites themselves didn't actually look reddened or infected, it was just the additional trauma that had not been needed.

Everything was still too tender.

And for just a second, Emily started to lean down to place a quick kiss on the back of his hand. But then she quickly remembered again . . . on duty . . . so she carefully let his fingers go. Just as she was about to ask Hotch if he wanted her to get him anything, she heard a throat clear.

"Everything okay back here guys?"

Rossi.

Feeling the heat crawling up her face, Emily spun around in horror.

CRAP! How long had he been standing there?

Given the perplexed look on his face she was guessing . . . too long.

And for a second Emily was completely dumbfounded as to what to say. Fortunately though, Hotch's complete unflappability once again saved the day. Because, though she had no plan of action beyond standing there bug eyed like deer caught in headlights, Hotch immediately stepped around her, lifting his head slightly as he answered back with his usual confidence.

"Yeah," he raised his still aching hand, "just needed a second out of the room. Right before the briefing Reid dropped a box on my bad hand," he rolled his eyes, "it's throbbing like a bastard."

Hopefully if he just kept talking then Rossi would forget that he and Emily were huddled together out in the back of the ranger's station like it was a junior high recess. As to whether or not Dave had just seen Emily holding his hand, he didn't know.

It would be just their luck though.

Rossi's brow knitted together as he stared at Hotch and Emily ten feet away. Though they weren't actually doing anything inappropriate . . . though he had seen Emily inspecting his hand . . . for some peculiar reason Dave had the sensation of having just flipped on the den light to find two teenagers necking on the couch.

But that was nuts.

First of all, Hotch had JUST gotten divorced, and second of all Hotch . . . unlike Dave himself . . . did not fish off the company pier . . . and third of all, even if Hotch was on some sort of bizarre uncharacteristic rebound fling with Prentiss, they sure as hell wouldn't be making out on duty in the middle of a murder case.

Now THAT . . . Dave realized how stupid he was being . . . was _beyond_ nuts.

So having now decided that whatever his kneejerk assessment of the situation had been, had been completely _wrong_, Rossi refocused his attention on the words Hotch had actually said.

His hand.

"Do you need to see a doctor?"

Though Rossi was aware that that Hotch and Emily had stumbled into a fire ant's nest out in the desert . . . a stumbling which necessitated a trip to the base clinic at China Lakes . . . he hadn't actually given the situation much consideration beyond that. And that's because by the time they'd all arrived back at their temporary headquarters, both of them had blown off any concern the others might have had for their well being. They said they were fine. And if not for a slight bit of favoring of their bad hands, they'd seemed fine.

But now . . . Rossi's jaw twitched as he saw Hotch slowly raise his somewhat 'claw cramped' shooting hand . . . one of them wasn't.

"No," Hotch's brow darkened slightly as he shook his head and reflexively pulled his hand back to his chest, "no, it'll be fine within the hour," he jerked his other thumb over his shoulder, "Prentiss was just offering to run back to the motel to get me some Motrin from her bag."

Though Emily had actually made no such offer, Hotch knew that when Rossi walked up she was only a breath away from asking him if he needed anything. And he actually did need some damn pills.

And as he'd expected Emily immediately jumped right into the conversation.

"Right, Motrin," she put her hand out, "somebody have keys?"

Both men reached for their pockets but Rossi pulled his out faster.

"Here you go," he tossed them to Emily who caught them one handed, and then he turned his attention back to Hotch. "You need anything else now, ice pack maybe, or can we head over to the autopsy?"

Hotch jerked his head.

"No, it's fine. I don't have time to ice it properly anyway. I just need something for the pain." Then he turned back to Emily, "can you meet us on base?"

The motel was just down the road, but the autopsy was being done back at China Lake.

Twenty miles in the other direction.

"Of course," she flashed him a soft smile, "be there before you know it."

Hotch shot her a half a dimple . . . out of Rossi's eyesight of course . . . then he turned to follow Dave over to the other SUV.

Halfway across the baking black asphalt, Hotch suddenly turned back again. Emily was walking to the Suburban on the other side of the small lot.

Her black clothes were shimmering in the bright sun.

"Prentiss!" he called out. And she stopped, turning back to look at him as her arm came up to shield her eyes from the sun.

"What?"

"Why don't you take JJ with you?"

Though he phrased it as a question, it was really more of a rhetorical one. Seeing her alone like that, he'd suddenly had a bad feeling creep into his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was the chief in him or the boyfriend, but either way, he didn't want her going anywhere alone.

"What?" Emily's brow wrinkled in confusion, then she shook her head, "don't be silly Hotch. I don't need backup to pick up a bottle of Motrin. It's broad daylight and I'm just running to the motel and then the base. I'll be perfectly fine."

Though his worrying was generally sweet, this one was rather ridiculous. An armed woman . . . even a pregnant one . . . could certainly retrieve a bottle of pills without assistance.

She wasn't a freaking invalid.

Hotch stared back for a second, debating whether or not to make this an argument. But the problem was . . . her retort had been perfectly logical and reasonable. And that's when he started to worry that it was Boyfriend Hotch calling the shots right then. Still though, he was about to say screw it and just tell her to get JJ anyway . . . who was to say Boyfriend Hotch had any less valid instincts than Chief Hotch . . . when Rossi honked the horn.

Time to go.

Crap.

"Fine," he yelled in exasperation, "just be careful."

Then he turned, quickly jogging over to where Rossi was impatiently waiting for him. Just before Hotch yanked the door open, from behind him he heard Emily call his name. He turned to see her shoot him a jaunty salute.

"Roger that sir!"

Hotch's lips twitched slightly as his tension level started to drop.

She'd be fine.

And with that last thought . . . he jumped into the cab.

/*/*/*/*

With a roll of her eyes, Emily reached over to turn down the air conditioning in the SUV. Damn men and their ridiculously hot body temperatures. This was the vehicle that Dave and Derek had been using half the day and apparently they'd felt that simply because they were in a technical desert location that they had to crank the AC up to Arctic levels.

It was freaking March!

Yes, the sun was blinding as hell but the air temperatures weren't that bad. It had actually been pretty chilly when they'd first woken up. In fact . . . she snapped off the AC altogether and hit the window button . . . a little fresh air would probably do her some good.

This baby making thing was starting to dip into her energy levels a bit. Especially late afternoon . . . and it was now just before four . . . she felt like she could happily go curl up in the corner and take something approaching a long winter's nap.

Generally . . . fortunately . . . if she just powered through, the feeling would fade by dinner. But still . . . she turned onto the one of the side access roads as she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand . . . she knew the month might come when the afternoon nap might actually become a necessity.

For now though, she just refocused on her driving. She'd picked up the Motrin . . . plus a couple of peanut butter granola bars and another bottle of water . . . from out of her room. And now she was driving back to the base as she happily munched and drank away.

Her appetite had been somewhat legendary pre-pregnancy, but now this eating for two business was even worse than the sleeping for two business. Basically if she didn't keep shoveling something into her mouth every couple of hours . . . and she tried to be good and restrict the shoveling to just granola bars and dried fruit . . . then she'd start to feel a bit lightheaded. Based on what she'd read in the baby book, it seemed that her ravenous appetite was probably a good thing though.

It might be helping to keep the fairly typical baby nausea away.

At least that was her theory anyway. It sounded like the cure for the morning/day sickness was to get some bland food into your stomach and keep it there. They said that an empty stomach was more likely to get the ishy feeling than a semi-full one. So as long as she kept shoveling the food in on a regular basis, then hopefully her body wouldn't start revolting against her on a regular basis.

She still couldn't stand eggs though.

Emily's nose wrinkled as she thought back to her stomach flipping at the sight of Reid's sunnyside up breakfast that morning. Blech. She was kind of afraid she was off them for good.

Oh well . . . with a sigh her hand fell down to rub the bump . . . if eggs were the trade off for getting both the Hotchkin and the Hotch, she'd live with that loss just fine. She just thanked God it wasn't Mexican food the baby didn't like.

Losing salsa and chips might have actually made her cry.

Emily was so lost in her food trade off musings that she almost didn't see the glint up ahead of her on the dusty back road that was going to eventually lead up to one of the back gates at China Lake.

Fortunately she did see it though.

But she saw it a little later than she should have though. And her foot ended up slamming down on the brakes barely ten feet from the object that had caught her eye.

Spike strips.

FUCK!

Emily immediately yanked out her weapon with one hand as she hit the door locks with the other. Just as she moved her hand to roll the window up, a zip passed her face and took out the glass on the other side of the SUV.

FUCK! FUCK! **FUCK!**

Still screaming profanities in her head, Emily jerked the Suburban into reverse then immediately her foot came off the brake that had prevented her tires from being shredded. She slammed it down full throttle onto the accelerator.

The agent part of her brain knew that she needed to call for backup immediately . . . she began flying backwards down the road . . . but that voice was being drowned out at the moment by the survival instinct part.

If she didn't keep moving she was dead.

And she was doing good too. Though there were still bullets flying, she'd cleared at least thirty feet back down the road before suddenly there was a pop . . . and then another.

He'd just taken out two of tires.

Feeling the lumbering vehicle being a sickening lurch to the right, all Emily had time to do was brace herself for impact.

Then the SUV flipped.

* * *

_A/N 2: There we go! Promised you we'd have a bit of a Great Falls type plot development here. It just took an extra chapter to get to it. If you're thinking, 'wow, that's kind of random that Emily would just happen to be the next target for their UNSUB while she's out there alone,' there is an explanation there :)_

_I'm sure that some of you are happy that there's a bit more Haley Hating than you usually get in the Girl'verse. I figured though, Emily (in her role as Hotch's new "squeeze") is obviously going to be much less diplomatic in her feelings than she was in the main verse where she was an outside observer to the downfall of their marriage. She and Hotch weren't even close friends yet at this raw, painful very early stage of the divorce. So having a front row seat to that bit of ugliness, clearly Emily is going to be choosing a side. And it isn't going to be Haley's! I haven't decided if I'll make them out and out hostile here in this version, but I might. It'll be a nice switch to everyone being grown up and mature. God knows that gets old :)_

_As to Dave figuring out what's up with them, it's a little early for anybody to figure out their secret, but I figured it wasn't too early at all to plant a seed. Because really, nobody at this point in time (barely 2 months beyond Hotch's official signing of the divorce papers) would assume that not only had he moved on to another serious relationship, but to another serious relationship in house. Either action would be totally out of character. So, though Rossi's profiling instincts were dead on, he dismissed them outright._

_I promise I am SO trying to keep all these cliffhanger balls juggling in the air, and I'll do my best to get the next one up here within a couple weeks. Next up (now that I've thrown this and Horses back in the air) are Hours, Things Fall Apart and Fracture. I get those three up, then I'm back here again before the end of the month. And just now all I heard swirling in my head was maniacal circus clown music. But I've got drafts going all over the place, I just have to BELIEVE I can do all of it. That's half the battle :) And in between all those, I will also get up the conclusions to my Doctor Who and JJ/Em stories. Again, you gotta believe!_

_As always, thanks for the feedback everyone. I'm dropping notes back as fast as I can, but again, writing back a REAL note to people takes a couple minutes so I do them in little batches. And actually, the longer the note I get from you, the longer it takes for me to write back because I'm not going to get like 3 paragraphs from somebody and just write back a one word response. That would be rather tool'ish :)_

_Completely unrelated to anything, I read this really nice (short) little article today that I thought I'd share. It's about love and friendship. If you're so inclined, here's the link: _

_.com/lifestyle/weddings/articles/2011/06/12/a_bridesmaids_lament/?p1=Well_MostPop_Emailed2_

_And this was my favorite line: "However much our society might pay lip service to friendship, the fact remains that the only love it considers important – important enough to merit a huge public celebration – is romantic love. This despite the fact that platonic love is the only love that's truly unconditional."_


	15. Behold A Pale Horse

**Author's Note**: Fair warning, ugliness ahead. Fortunately it's already an M story. But that was for the sex, this is for just general bad violence and language and all that nasty stuff that happens when you toss a serial killer into the mix.

Left on a cliffhanger and we're picking up some hours later. Opening with Dave.

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

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* * *

**Behold A Pale Horse**

Hotch gunned the engine as the Suburban suddenly slammed into another river of water covering the roadway. The night was pitch black . . . and the SUV was going almost a hundred miles an hour . . . so they'd driven into the deluge before anybody had seen it coming.

The water flew up and hit the windshield. They were going so fast it sounded like rocks hurling into the glass.

Dave flinched.

It was involuntary . . . if it sounds like a piece of protective glass is about to break apart, your brain thinks 'DUCK' . . . but still, it was slightly embarrassing. But he had no time to consider his somewhat bothersome response, as just then, the two tons of steel started to slide out of Hotch's control. It wasn't the first remnants of a flash flood that they'd run into that night.

But apparently it was the deepest.

For a moment Dave's breath caught in his throat. He could feel the SUV slowly moving to the side, caught in the undercurrent. And then there was a faint weightlessness as they seemed to lift slightly off the ground.

Though he was trying to hide his outward alarm, he couldn't stop his fingertips from digging into the dashboard.

OH CHRIST! FUCK!

THEY WERE GOING TO ROLL!

Right before they tipped . . . just as Dave heard the three simultaneously muttered curses/prayers from the back seat . . . JJ, Reid and Derek respectively . . . the rear tires somehow again gained tread. Hotch immediately jerked the wheel to the left and pressed the accelerator back to the floor.

Within seconds they'd cleared the rushing water . . . and then seconds after that Dave could see that they were again flying past ninety.

That had been their minimal speed since they'd left the ranger's station seventy some odd minutes ago.

And though Dave Rossi was not generally a man who easily feared for his life . . . his life had been far too fucked up for that . . . the last hour in the SUV had had his heart in his throat.

And that's because Hotch was driving like a maniac.

Maniac didn't even cover it really. Yes, the man could certainly handle himself . . . Dave himself had taught him a trick or two back in the day . . . but this was the desert. Mostly unpaved roads. No lamp posts . . . no bright city lights.

No lights at all.

That alone would have made this mad race through a starless night, treacherous as hell. But then you add in the unexpected . . . and frequent . . . downpours over the last few hours, and this trip was a God damn nightmare. The rains had washed out half of the unpaved roads. The rest . . . the few paved byways that they'd crossed over going at least a hundred . . . they were a hydroplaner's wet dream.

If they didn't get killed before they found Emily, it would truly be a miracle.

Not that any of this appeared to be phasing Hotch. Not in the slightest. Not one muttered curse or prayer. No slamming of his fist on the steering wheel. Nothing. He hadn't panicked once . . . he hadn't anything. Even now as Dave's worried eyes snapped across the front seat, in the shadow of the dash lights he could see none of the concern or agitation that was on his own face. Or the downright terror that he knew was on the faces of the team members in the back seat.

Hotch was just . . . blank.

He'd been like that since they'd gotten the call from Morgan. The one asking if Emily had arrived yet. Telling them that she wasn't answering her phone and the sheriff had just gotten a call about an accident scene.

A black SUV upside down on the desert floor.

They'd still been at the morgue then. And as Dave had listened to Derek's words coming through the speaker phone on Hotch's cell, suddenly all of the color had drained from his friend's face. His jaw opened . . . and then it had closed.

And that was the last time he'd come close to displaying anything resembling a human emotion.

Everything in him was now locked down tight.

And though Dave knew that Hotch's coping mechanism for stress was a ruthless . . . almost frightening . . . degree of emotional repression, even for him . . . even given the horrendous circumstances . . . this was a new level of icy rigidity. Dave wasn't sure if he found Hotch's reaction to Emily's abduction disturbing . . . or laudable.

Perhaps . . . Dave bit back a sigh as his attention shifted to the road . . . it was a bit of both.

After they'd arrived at what they'd expected was just a simple accident scene to find the shredded tires, bullet holes in the doors, and Emily's cell phone in the backseat . . . on the roof, obviously thrown there in the roll . . . they realized that the accident scene was actually a crime scene.

She'd been taken.

The younger members of the team had been near hysteria. Hell, Dave had only known Emily for a few months and HE had been near hysteria! It had been restrained for the locals, but there was no doubt for anyone around him . . . he was fucking, UP-SET!

But he liked Emily . . . he liked her a lot. How could you not? She was smart as a whip, funny . . . a little bit of a nerd. But in a sweet way. And not to mention she was also a complete _bad ass_ in a swimsuit model package.

Basically . . . Dave's heart twisted as he thought back to her laughing with JJ on the jet . . . she was just a good kid. And the thought of anything happening to her, let alone . . . Dave's jaw tightened as his gaze shifted to the blackness whizzing by the side window . . . the thought of her being _taken_ by one of the monsters in their files, was enough to send his normal 'on the job' control, right out the fucking window.

This was NOT business as usual.

Trying to locate a friend that had been taken by a serial killer, was a _very_ different situation than trying to locate a stranger that had been taken by that same psychopath. And any asshole superior that told you that it was no different . . . that you could still suck it up and display a cool, professional detachment . . . was a lying sack of shit.

There was no detachment.

There was outward _repression_ . . . it was the only way to keep working . . . but inwardly they were all completely, terrified. She'd been missing for seven and a half hours.

Seven and a half _hours_.

It was an honest to God nightmare scenario. God only knows what had been done to her so far. It was unlikely . . . given what they'd seen in the case file they'd compiled to date . . . that she'd been left untouched.

Just put aside for later.

No . . . Dave's upper teeth dug into his lip . . . if Emily had been taken this quickly after the other woman, that meant that this killer's control was deteriorating. And that was bad.

So bad.

Torture was likely. Sexual abuse was possible.

Hell . . . Dave's gaze momentarily dropped to his clenched fist . . . she could be dead already.

And if worrying about all that wasn't bad enough . . . his gaze snapped back to the world outside the panes of glass . . . there was more going on here.

This was not the first time that one of them had been taken. By Dave's own perusal of their files . . . something he'd done when he first came back to the job . . . he knew that Reid's abduction was just over a year ago. Fortunately they'd gotten him back relatively unscathed.

Physically at least.

The level of his psychological damage . . . how Spencer coped with what had happened to him . . . that was unclear to Dave. But what was clear . . . _crystal _clear . . . was that that wound had barely scabbed over. Not just for Reid, but for all of the rest of them too.

And now it had been sliced wide open again.

JJ and Reid had been huddled together constantly, speaking in hushed whispers. Morgan was functioning in a controlled rage . . . sometimes not so controlled, he'd nearly put his fist through a deputy's nose . . . and every time they conferenced in Garcia, she was crying. Everyone was a mess.

Everyone but Hotch.

His orders were calm and controlled . . . his voice was always even. He was very much the epitome of 'The Man In Charge.' He was handling this crisis like the pro that he was. But still . . . there was something off.

Seriously off.

And that's why . . . though the kids probably could have used some kind words . . . Hotch was the primary focus of Dave's attention right now. Because he knew him, and he knew that he was hurting just as much as the others were. But it was buried down underneath that layer of ice.

Mostly Hotch's temper burned cold . . . but eventually that ice would burn off.

And that's when he would explode.

So as far as Dave was concerned . . . he watched the speedometer inch up to one twenty . . . Hotch was a ticking time bomb.

A time bomb that was about to meet up with their UNSUB.

That's why they were screaming across the basin of Death Valley. They were heading to an abandoned mining town. They'd dug for copper and gold there . . . that was important. That was the link. And that's where they thought Emily had been taken.

That's where Hotch was _sure_ Emily had been taken.

There was no talking him out of it.

It wasn't exactly a long shot . . . Garcia had matched the trace in the soil samples taken off the most recent body, to that exact geological area . . . but still, Dave was cautious. There were a lot of abandoned mining towns in this area, so who was to say that the UNSUB just used the one?

If it was Dave, he'd switch it up all the time. Make sure his trace was always different.

Always unique.

But . . . he shook his head slightly . . . most of their UNSUBs weren't that smart. And this one, well it was hard to say his intelligence level either way. He'd been smart enough to pick a hunting ground with multiple jurisdictional issues. So that was something in the mental 'pro' column.

He wasn't a complete idiot.

Beyond that, who the hell knew. So at the very least they were sure that this location they were heading towards was the kill zone for the last victim.

And hopefully . . . if God could cut them just a little slack . . . they'd find Emily too.

And find her still in one piece.

So it was nearing midnight, they were riding up on a literal ghost town going a hundred and something, and Dave had NO idea what Hotch was going to do when they arrived at this particular monster's lair.

If the monster was even in.

But he had a feeling though, if the monster was in . . . the time bomb was about to go off.

The most ridiculous part of it was . . . they were chasing a phantom. This UNSUB still had no name. But of course the name didn't matter. The name never mattered. He was just going to be one more pathetic nobody.

Another piece of excrement spit up from hell.

So as far as an actual physical description went on this one, all they had really was their minimal profile. Rugged white male, early 30s to early 40s. Probably has issues with his mother.

But of course . . . Dave sighed . . . don't they all.

But if that's what they found out here tonight, then God help him. Because Hotch cared for his team more than any chief Dave had ever known. That was a good thing . . . mostly. But it also meant that he took their safety VERY personally. And this was a man that you did not fuck with even at the best of times. And he was coming off probably one of the worst of years of his personal and professional life.

The divorce had only been finalized a few months ago.

So truly . . . JJ yelped as they suddenly rammed through maze of cacti that popped up out of the dark . . . Dave was terrified that if something had happened to Prentiss . . . if they got there too late . . . that Hotch was going to kill the person responsible.

Kill him in cold blood.

So Dave . . . the man who had been brought back to the BAU to help reassert a bit of stability and control . . . was now faced with a dilemma. If Hotch was going to kill this man . . . and Dave was pretty sure that he was . . . was he was going to let him?

That . . . Dave slipped out his weapon as the first manmade structure they'd seen in twenty miles appeared in the glow of the headlights . . . he didn't know.

But it looked like they were about to find out.

/*/*/*/*/*/

_Simultaneous Timing To the Above Events_

Emily screamed as the fireplace poker sunk into her shoulder.

**FUCK!**

The smell of her burning flesh caused the howl of pain to end in a choke as the vomit rose up in her throat. For a second she tried to swallow it back, but then the poker dug in deeper . . . the UNSUB was rolling it around . . . and she screeched again.

This time it was as much rage as agony.

It was enough to knock the nausea off the table. Because she had seriously had ENOUGH of this SHIT! He'd started his little torture games simply by smacking her around. Aside from whatever the hell bruises and head injury she'd gotten when the SUV flipped, she now had a black eye, a cut lip and something was wrong with her cheek.

It seemed to be bleeding.

But then a little while ago the UNSUB . . . nondescript thirty-five year old white male with a faint southern accent, basically a nobody you wouldn't look twice at in the street . . . had apparently tired of exerting himself. After a final slap to the mouth . . . she'd nearly bit his finger off . . . he'd gone over and started up the fireplace in the corner of the old saloon.

She'd nearly freaked.

Okay . . . her jaw clenched . . . she had freaked. But fire . . . being burned . . . was one of her biggest phobias.

Her greatest fears.

Not that this asshole knew that, it was just his own twisted little game.

Something to play with the new girl.

But surprisingly . . . surprising even for someone with as much psych training as she had . . . being confronted so directly with a fear that had haunted her since her youth, had unleashed a level of rage in Emily that she hadn't previously been aware of.

She wanted blood.

She wanted it in a way that she never had before. And the one thing she knew for sure . . . her wild eyes snapped up to see the UNSUB turning back to the fireplace . . . if she'd still had her Sig with her she would have blown this fucker's head off, and then taken it home for a trophy.

Something to nail to the wall.

But . . . she tried to take a breath to catch her temper . . . that wasn't a helpful fantasy at the moment. Because her gun was gone. The UNSUB had taken it from her when she'd been knocked unconscious in the accident. By the time she woke up, she was already hogtied in the back of some type of all-terrain vehicle.

They traveled for at least two hours of the time that she was awake . . . and not once did they exceed the speed limit. It was clear that this UNSUB at least knew not to bring attention to himself.

That meant he wasn't completely stupid.

And so her terror and isolation mounted with every mile. And she watched from the floor as the sky around them changed from light blue to purple . . . to black.

With every new hue, she was being taken further and further away from Hotch.

At first she wanted to weep. But then she got pissed at herself for even thinking like that. Thinking like a chick . . . a civilian one at that. But then she decided it was probably just the hormones making her react that way.

Hotchkin reminding her that there were bigger considerations at hand.

That there was more than one life at stake.

And Emily prayed that the baby had suffered no injury in the accident . . . fortunately she didn't seem to have any pain in that area . . . but she knew that whatever had happened in the accident, had become the least of her worries at the moment.

The UNSUB's plans for them . . . his next move . . . THAT was the problem.

So now it was her job to take care of herself, and the baby, until her burgeoning little family unit was back together again.

Of course that was easier said than done.

Here she was out in the middle of nowhere . . . it seemed to be some old ghost town . . . with no weapons at her disposal. Also her hands and feet were bound to the chair. So basically she was simply biding her time . . . read, trying to stay alive . . . until Hotch found her.

And she knew that outcome was not in doubt.

He would find her.

She just had to make sure that she . . . and Hotchkin . . . were still alive and in one piece when he got here. So she was trying to be . . . her jaw twisted in anger . . . cooperative. Docile.

Compliant.

If this UNSUB wanted to play out his sick little fantasy faux rape games . . . the poker was a pathetic phallic symbol . . . then she'd deal. She could take it.

She could take anything.

And as long as he kept his attentions where he had so far . . . her upper body, mostly face, shoulders and arms . . . then everything would be all right for now.

The scars would heal.

All that mattered was that the baby wasn't being hurt, and she wasn't actually _being_ raped. And though she was in agony . . . and having horrific flashbacks to what happened to her when she was a teenager . . . this vacation in hell was still her best case scenario for this abduction. Her fear though was that soon the UNSUB would tire of this game too.

Then he'd move on to something else.

Something . . . her breath was ragged as he turned to stick the metal edge back in the fire . . . more invasive.

But for the next five minutes they continued to play their little fireplace game. She had light burn marks all over her arms . . . it was some sort of fucked up pattern that seemed to please him . . . and two more deeper burns on her shoulders. He'd taken off her jacket and sweater so she was down to just her tank top and pants.

Better to burn you with my dear. He'd said that as he cut off her sweater with the hunting knife he now had hanging off his belt. Then he chuckled.

He apparently thought he'd made a funny joke.

He was mistaken.

And when Emily felt the poker dig into her back once more . . . the smell of the flesh again started to make her feel ill. This time though, when her head snapped back to see the laughing eyes staring down at her, she'd suddenly had enough. More than enough. Apparently there was a limit to how long she could play the helpless victim.

One hundred and twenty plus minutes seemed to cover it.

So she finally let loose the one weapon she had available.

She spewed vomit all over him.

Part of her wanted to laugh when the UNSUB screamed in fury as he faltered backwards . . . it wasn't so funny when you were on the receiving end of this shit was it buddy?

And again, it was almost comical . . . almost . . . as he tried desperately to rip off his sick covered shirt. He only got as far as tearing the buttons before his arm bumped into wall and the fire poker clattered to the floor.

As it rolled across the dusty wooden boards, he came running at her, screaming that she was a cunt . . . his control was fading fast . . . right as his closed fist connected with her cheek.

Her head jerked backwards . . . blood filled her mouth.

She spat that at him too.

Then she unleashed her own stream of profanity. Everything and anything she could think of, every expletive ever uttered by any Marine and overheard by her young ears, came firing from her bloodied mouth.

She could see that her words were having an effect . . . especially the ones on his manhood . . . so she kept going. Telling him that he couldn't get it up, that there were pygmies with bigger dicks, that REAL men didn't need to use _fireplace _utensils to get off. All the while she was trying to keep him off kilter, keep his attention away from her actions. She was desperately working the ties on her wrists as he howled and chased after the poker.

It had rolled under a broken table in the corner.

She knew that she was pushing him straight over the edge . . . he'd just promised that as soon as he got that iron back, he was taking out one of her eyes . . . but she had to keep him distracted. She was THIS close to getting free!

Her wrists were so abraded the blood had soaked completely through the old cotton ropes.

It wouldn't take much more . . . her head snapped up at the crash made by the table flying into the wall.

OH FUCK!

Knowing that there was no time left . . . he was reaching for it . . . she yanked her right arm as hard as she could. The rope tore deep into her flesh . . . enough to make her scream . . . but still she couldn't get her arm free.

And when the UNSUB turned back to her with the poker in hand . . . and then pulled the knife from his belt . . . for the first time, she started to cry. It wasn't fear for herself.

All she could think of was the baby.

And Hotch.

They might not have reached the verbal '_I love you' _stage yet, but she knew that if he lost them this way . . . this violently . . . that he'd never recover.

It would kill him.

A thought came to her then . . . a plan really . . . one that should have come to her earlier, but for some reason hadn't. Perhaps she was just too busy trying to actually STAY alive. But now she was coming to the point where just staying alive wasn't going to be enough.

She was coming to the point of no return.

The moment where the UNSUB was moving past his fucked up version of foreplay . . . her heart began to jackrabbit as started towards her . . . that poker was about to be inserted into her eye socket.

And it wouldn't be stopping there.

Feeling her stomach start to turn again . . . this time baby nausea was not the cause . . . her tears slowed as she sniffled and her head snapped back.

"The FBI's lead agent on your case is my husband!"

As she'd hoped, that stopped the UNSUB cold. She could see his eyes widening . . . his little reptilian brain processing.

"Husband?" He repeated cautiously.

"That's right," Emily nodded furiously, seeing her long shot was gaining some traction, "husband. And I'm pregnant. So you'd better stop what you're doing now. Because trust me," she leaned forward and hissed, "he's already going to hunt you down like a dog. _That's_ happening. And that's happening just for what you've done to me so far. So the ONLY thing," she growled as her rage bubbled up, "that's going to keep him from RIPPING your fucking throat out, is if you stop now and you walk away! You leave me here and you GET OUT!"

She shook the chair and screamed it again.

"Do you FUCKING hear me? He's coming here and he's going to KILL you!"

Though part of her was still terrified of where that poker was going next, mostly she was just . . . her eyes started to burn again . . . angry.

So angry.

THIS was not supposed to happen! She and Hotch were supposed to be building a family together picking out baby names and nursery colors!

They were supposed to be NORMAL!

THIS . . . her fists clenched again and the ropes stretched incrementally further . . . this, ASSHOLE was not part of the plans! This was not normal.

This was FUCKED up!

And she watched . . . her temper still riding through the roof . . . as the UNSUB processed the words that she'd just said to him. She watched as that smarmy self-confidence wavered ever so slightly.

If you didn't read people for a living . . . if you didn't do what she did . . . you probably wouldn't have even seen it. That faint twitch of the jaw . . . the ripple of the Adam's apple. He was thinking.

And he was worried.

Though she still didn't know how the hell he'd zeroed in on her . . . perhaps it was planned . . . perhaps it was just simple convenience . . . it was clear that he knew she was an FBI agent. The first thing he'd done when they arrived was take her ID and badge.

She was sure that he was planning for it to be a trophy.

And up until she'd thrown up all over him, he was getting his rocks off torturing her. Last time it was the Navy Ensign. And you didn't have to be a profiler to see that he was getting a thing for going after women in positions of power.

He was getting off on dominating them.

But the thought that he might have just made a personal enemy out of one of the MEN that was hunting him, that . . . her breath was ragged as she leaned back slightly in the chair . . . that was clearly giving him food for thought. And that's all she was trying to do.

Buy some time.

Because Hotch would be here soon. She was sure of it. She knew her team. She knew how good they were in a crisis. And because her watch was still working, Emily knew that they'd hit crisis time just under eight hours ago. And that meant that they _really _shouldn't be too much longer.

And she didn't think that was just wishful . . . desperate . . . thinking on her part.

They were coming.

Still though, until they got there . . . she mentally sent calming thoughts down to Hotchkin . . . she was on her own.

Single parent.

So she watched the UNSUB closely, taking in the dilation in his eyes, the clench of his jaw . . . the tension in his hands. She was trying to read what he was going to do next.

What decision he was about to make.

Things seemed to be going in her favor. That's why she'd said husband instead of boyfriend . . . the word held more weight. More commitment to the relationship.

To a family unit.

But then to her horror, Emily saw the UNSUB's chest start to swell . . . and then his posture begin to straighten.

His lip quirked up.

"Husband, huh?"

This time the question came with a smirk. And Emily knew then . . . knew from the little hairs standing up on the back of her neck . . . that she'd lost her little game of chicken. He was too far gone. Deteriorating too rapidly. Hotch's vengeance wasn't something to fear.

It was a challenge.

Something to relish.

FUCK!

He came running at her, screaming like a banshee with the knife in one hand and the still hot poker in the other.

Foreplay was over.

OH JESUS CHRIST!

Adrenaline flooded her body as the terror consumed her. Fight or flight was taking over. And God knows that she wanted to both at the same time.

Beat his face in and run out the door.

Instead she ended up just knocking the chair over.

She hit the ground with a scream . . . he'd reached her just as she fell. The knife had sliced across her back, tearing through her tank top and the soft flesh beneath.

Fortunately the chair back was still protecting most of her spine and internal organs.

Feeling him pull the blade out, she tried to roll the chair. She was beyond plans . . . she was just trying to get away.

Again, just trying to stay alive.

But she couldn't move fast enough. The knife plunged down into her back again and she howled as another burst of rage filled her.

She bit down another scream . . . the pain was excruciating. But then suddenly she heard . . . and felt . . . the side spokes of the chair snap. Her arms were free.

She was free.

But unfortunately the UNSUB saw her fingers shoot out . . . saw her trying to find something to use as a weapon . . . and he dropped on her legs, trying to pin her down before she could move again.

That was a bad move on his part. Because all she could think about then was Hotchkin.

That knife was too close to the baby.

She screeched and bucked like a demon. With her bound legs she was kicking at him and with her now free hands she was clawing at his face. And though she took some defensive cuts to her palms, mostly she had control.

Mama protecting her cub.

There was howl as he fell back on his ass . . . her right hand returned with a chunk of his scalp in it.

Knowing these few seconds that she'd bought herself were only serving to enrage him further . . . he was going to kill her and he was going to make it hurt like hell . . . she hurriedly yanked the ropes off her ankles.

That's when she noticed the blood running down her arm.

There was a lot of it.

Probably the only thing keeping her brain focused was the adrenaline . . . she started scrambling across the floor as she heard the footsteps pounding towards her again . . . but eventually the blood loss would start to take over.

Her fingers closed around one of the wooden spokes that had broken off the chair.

She needed to inflict some serious damage before she passed out.

So as the UNSUB dropped on top of her again . . . with another primal scream . . . she shoved the chunk of wood back over her shoulder.

Judging by the screech . . . this one of pain, one in which she took great satisfaction . . . she knew that she'd make contact with his face.

A splash of blood hit her bare shoulder.

But apparently the injury wasn't bad enough, because in the next second she felt the knife plunge into her back again. This time it went deep.

The pain was so bad she started to pass out.

But then she heard a noise . . . wood crashing and splintering.

The door.

And then came the voice.

"EMILY!"

Hotch.

Her eyes filled with tears. Relief. Joy. These were not words big enough to encompass the wave of emotions that washed over her. He'd come for her.

He'd saved her.

And as she heard the screams to "FREEZE!" and the stampede of boots rushing towards her and the UNSUB, she dropped flat to the ground.

She knew what was happening next.

Just as her face pressed against the filthy floor, she suddenly became aware of the blood running out of her mouth.

It was pooling beneath her face.

That probably wasn't good.

Fortunately she was distracted of thoughts on her internal injuries, by the whiz of the first bullet flying over her head . . . it was followed by a yell and a grunt as it slammed into the UNSUB behind her.

That one bullet knocked him completely off of her.

The next one flew high over her head . . . and then the UNSUB began to scream like a young girl. Through his sobs she could make out something about his fingers.

Apparently Hotch had just shot them off.

Her mouth twisted into sick grin.

"Told you to run," she mumbled into her little pool of blood.

Then she passed out.

* * *

_A/N 2: I know, still the cliffhanger! How badly is Em hurt? Is Hotchkin okay? But at least the team got there. Still I wasn't going to have Emily be all 'damsel'd victim.' Yes, she did need some back up, but she wasn't going down without inflicting some damage of her own._

_And Hotch, you just don't fuck with his family. In canon or in fanon. Now let's see if he decides to actually kill the UNSUB. And let's see if the others let him . . . though the chapter title might give you some clue to Hotch's intentions at least. The rider of the pale horse was death :) And I deliberately stayed out of his head here because I think it would be pretty clear how he'd be reacting internally. He'd be terrified and panic stricken and blaming himself and all that other good Hotch angst stuff that we all love. So what I thought would be a more interesting approach would be how all of that internal 'Sturm und Drang' would manifest externally. And Dave was obviously the best person to take as the narrator there. He knows Hotch well, but he's still new enough to the team in their current incarnation, that he has a sliver of distance from what's happening to all of them. Sort of like Emily's place back when Reid was taken._

_Em's Fire Phobia! - Somebody (rightfully, and helpfully :)) pointed out that if you didn't read the original Hours posting, you won't know where the hell that comes from. And that would be kind of annoying :) So just a note, I promise here, in this world, that history will be explained as they deal with her injuries.  
_

_Side note, I realized the difference between writing a line for Dave, and writing a line for somebody else is right here: "The rest . . . the few paved ones . . . were a hydroplaner's wet dream." At first it was just "dream" and then I was like 'oh wait, this is Dave' and made it just a bit coarser. That's Dave. Y chromosomes rule inside and out :)_

_I promise there won't be such a gap on the next post. I'm really hoping next weekend. I have a decent bit of the next chapter written, and the rest of it's clear in my head, so even with distractions, seven days isn't a pipe dream._


	16. Blood In, Blood Out

**Author's Note: ** Opening again with Dave. Because as you'll come to see before this arc has ended, when you're down in the shit, we should all be so lucky as to have a friend like Dave.

He's picking up narration where Emily passed out.

And please note, you will get some payoff here, but you won't get complete resolution. Remember, it's just a _chapter_, not the conclusion to the story arc. There are another couple of chapters to go there :)

And thank you all so much for the reviews for the last chapter, and over the last week for the new story, Elysia. The last few days have been crazy, so I don't think I've been able to respond to anyone, but as always they're most appreciated :)

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

* * *

**Prompt Set #33 (August 2011)**

Show: Millennium

Title Challenge: Somehow the Devil Got Behind Me

* * *

**Blood In, Blood Out**

Dave's eyes popped as he saw the UNSUB's left hand turned to hamburger right in front of him.

Hotch had just shot off his fingers.

HOLY SHIT!

Before Rossi could even mentally process that development . . . that was NOT a standard 'disarming' technique(!) . . . two more bullets slammed into the UNSUB's body. One that took off his left knee cap.

And then one straight into his upper left quadrant.

From the fresh screech of pain at the last bullet, Dave was assuming that one had shattered the clavicle. And though the UNSUB wasn't even close to being dead . . . the continued screaming was evidence enough of that . . . it was clear that he was in agony.

But of course . . . Dave's jaw clenched in fury as he ran over to subdue their suspect . . . that was the point. To make it hurt.

A lot.

And Hotch had been quite successful on that front. He'd also inflicted all of that damage . . . some dead center hits . . . without once breaking stride as he raced across the abandoned saloon.

His destination though wasn't Emily's abductor . . . not now . . . at least not yet . . . it was Emily herself.

He was calling her name and dropping down to his knees beside her body, before Dave . . . and Derek, who Rossi was shocked hadn't taken his own pound of flesh from the UNSUB . . . had even reached the howling creature on the floor.

And seeing that JJ and Reid were running to help Hotch with Emily, Rossi shifted his full attention to the mess in front of him. His fist clenched.

He needed to be dealt with.

And though Dave's "preferred" method of dealing would have been to blow the UNSUB's brains out, unfortunately that was off the table.

Their window on that one had closed when Hotch had stopped firing. His actions then . . . though not "routine" . . . were in the heat of the moment. Now though, things were 'getting under control.'

Dave hated that.

Still, as Derek ran up, jamming his boot into the UNSUB's throat and his gun into his face . . . while of course screaming at him to shut the fuck up . . . Rossi felt a small bit of satisfaction cut through his personal rage at what this monster had done to their friend. And that's because his time as a member of this team had still been relatively short . . . barely six months now . . . so he was pleased to see that Derek was showing no consideration . . . or care . . . for the UNSUB's injuries or feelings. He had of course forfeited such simple rights.

It was nice to know that Derek knew that too.

So while Morgan continued to crush the UNSUB's throat, Dave quickly kicked the knife and the poker off in two different directions.

They spun across the filthy floorboards, with each clattering off into a different corner.

He made a mental note . . . somebody would have to retrieve them later.

But once they were well clear of the UNSUB's remaining fingers . . . and he had the nod from the still gun toting Morgan that he was covered . . . Dave leaned down to do a quick frisk for additional weapons.

As his hands became sticky with the blood that was now covering half of the mangled body in front of him, Rossi's jaw clenched again. This time in a disgusted grimace. Blowing off body parts tended to make a mess.

But he always forgot just how much.

Still though, he continued moving along, ignoring the blood and other fluids . . . the UNSUB had pissed his pants . . . as he checked for hidden guns, knives . . . maybe a hand grenade shoved in a place that it shouldn't be. He'd found one of those on a frisk once.

That was not a good day.

But today, the Weapons Fairy at least, seemed to be on their side. Dave wasn't finding anything else at his feet besides a sniveling little piece of shit.

And as he started to lean back . . . he was about to stand up . . . out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hotch turning Emily over. And that's when Dave realized.

She still wasn't moving.

Her eyes were shut, her body was limp and bloodied, and she was lying very, very . . . he swallowed the lump forming.

Still.

Feeling waves of rage and grief wash over him in equal parts . . . Emily could very well be dead . . . Dave not so kindly finished up his body frisk with a two fingered jab to the ribs.

The UNSUB screamed again.

And again Derek told him to shut the fuck up . . . though that time he punctuated it with a smack from his Glock. For every action there was an equal . . . whatever.

The miasma folded around Dave's brain as he came to his feet . . . didn't matter.

Little mattered if Emily was dead.

The point was . . . Dave tried to refocus beyond the image of Emily lying there growing cold in front of him . . . that though he would have loved to play tag team torture games with Derek for a few more hours . . . and he knew Derek would be up for it as well . . . they needed this asshole alive.

And they needed him alive in (relatively) decent condition.

Because under the circumstances, an in-custody death . . . as in POST the initial gunshots during apprehension . . . would be very difficult to explain.

Impossible really.

So though he wanted to start peeling of fingernails, instead Dave reluctantly . . . and with a tight grimace . . . shook his head no to Morgan.

They were done.

Derek's own expression hardened even further . . . he knew the score as well as Dave did, but that didn't mean he had to like it. And Rossi could see his brain whirling as his teeth ground together. Then a second later he made his own decision . . . as Dave knew that he would . . . he pressed his boot down just a little bit harder.

The UNSUB's cries morphed into a mewling sound.

It was steady and soft. Something akin to an animal that has it's limb stuck in a trap.

But this animal wasn't going anywhere.

And though Dave wanted to protest . . . scuff marks on the throat were going to require an explanation at the hospital . . . they did need to hold him down somehow. And they had no rope.

Ordinarily of course they'd put him in handcuffs, but handcuffs were rather hard to manage on a man that was missing a hand.

The pressure on his carotid would do the trick.

So with that matter addressed . . . temporarily at least, that amount of pressure could result in brain damage if kept up too long . . . Dave finally slipped his pistol into his holster. Then his attention snapped back to the scene across the room.

The others were a solid twelve feet away.

"UNSUB's secure Hotch!" He called out before swallowing, "how's Emily?"

The question came out with a slight bit of hesitation. If she wasn't okay . . . if she really was dead . . . Dave didn't actually want to know it.

Not yet.

The belief that she was alive was the only thing keeping him from pulling his weapon again and finishing the thought he'd had when he ran up.

Well, that belief and his worries for the others . . . the ones that needed their pensions.

He didn't.

But he knew that if she _was_ dead, none of them would be thinking of their careers, or their futures. Those were concerns of another world.

The one with the rules.

And right now they were in the Wild West . . . literally. And the Wild West had no rules. So in that scenario, Dave's concerns were not for the UNSUB's safety . . . fuck him . . . they were solely for his team. Because if Emily was gone . . . gone with them out there all alone . . . the only law for a hundred miles . . . it was going to be one hell of a mess to clean up.

And Dave didn't know if he had a shovel big enough.

And though Hotch clearly had to have heard the question he'd asked about Emily . . . again, he was only twelve feet away . . . he paid Dave . . . and his words . . . no attention at all.

And that's when Rossi realized . . . even though Reid and JJ were hovering right behind him, both also pleading with him to tell them how she was . . . for Hotch, they didn't exist. There was only one other person in the room with him.

Emily.

His laser sharp intensity was focused entirely on her . . . on checking her vital signs.

Since Dave had last looked over, Hotch had turned her onto her back. And now he had one set of fingertips pressed to her throat, while the other was pressed down over her heart.

He looked . . . well, if Dave wasn't there he wouldn't have believed it . . . but it really looked like he was about to cry. And seeing that raw emotion seeping through . . . the same raw emotion that Dave could see bleeding off of Spencer and JJ, and Morgan with his hot weapon still pointed at the UNSUB's head . . . Dave realized what was happening.

That splintering was beginning . . . they were all preparing themselves for her death.

At that horrific thought . . . and the hellfire that was going to be unleashed if it were true . . . Dave's own little shell . . . the one that he was hoping to maintain to control the others . . . began to crack just a bit.

Though he hadn't known Emily as long as they had, the thought of her loss . . . the thought of her death . . . was just as grievous a future to him, as it was to the rest of the team. Beyond just the immediate considerations . . . fears . . . of what would happen to the UNSUB . . . and what the hell story he would have to tell . . . there was the question that should never be asked.

What would that be like if she were dead?

Before Dave could fully process those images . . . the ones without Emily at her desk, or cracking jokes on the plane . . . Hotch's head had suddenly snapped back.

"SHE'S ALIVE!"

The words came out as a roar. And though Dave's right hand quivered slightly at the noise . . . his trigger hand tended to do that when startled . . . he saw the kids practically jump off the ground.

Hotch had really scared the shit out of them.

But before the youngest agents could react beyond that . . . before _any_ of them could react beyond that . . . Hotch started being Hotch again.

He was yelling orders.

"Reid!" Hotch barked as he twisted around to make eye contact with his youngest team member.

"YES SIR!" Reid croaked back immediately.

Hotch pointed with his left hand towards the door . . . his right hand he'd moved down to Emily's hip.

He wasn't letting go of her again.

"Go back to the SUV," he continued, trying to keep his voice calm, "look for blankets, and see if there's a med kit under any of the seats. If you can't find one, just find something relatively sterile we can use to cover these wounds. If we don't find some way to dress them, then she's going to bleed out," his voice started to catch and he cleared it, "do you understand me?"

The chopper was somewhere behind them . . . at his request, JJ had used the SAT phone to radio to their position when they were halfway across the desert . . . but he was worried that it wouldn't get there soon enough. Emily was not in good shape.

Not at all.

At that reminder . . . of how weak and thready her pulse had been . . . Hotch's eyes started to burn. But he quickly blinked away the moisture attempting to pool.

No time for that right now.

And even if there was . . . he sure as hell wasn't going to get that emotional in front of the others. His feelings for Emily were entirely his business.

Nobody else's.

Reid had been nodding furiously as soon as Hotch started talking . . . his body was practically vibrating with adrenaline, he just wanted to do something to help . . . so before his boss had even finished the last sentence, he'd begun running backwards across the room.

"Med kit and blankets, got it!" He yelled.

The yell came right before he slammed into one of the old bar stools. It went clattering to the floor . . . one of the legs splintered off, nearly tripping him . . . but it didn't slow him down any.

He just spun around and ran towards the door.

Seeing that Reid clearly had all cylinders firing on this one task . . . though Hotch would have given his weight in gold for the kid to have an actual MEDICAL degree to back up that title of doctor . . . his focus snapped over to JJ.

Since his attention had been pulled away from Emily, JJ had moved over to her other side. She was now crouched down beside her friend, kneeling in a pool of blood.

The image made Hotch's heart hurt.

But JJ seemed oblivious to the mess as her fingertips brushed gently along Emily's temple. She was whispering something in her ear.

And she had tears running down her face.

Hotch did his best to ignore them.

"JJ," his tone was softer than it had been with Spencer. He wasn't immune to the crying.

Or the need to.

"I want you to go help Reid. But _first_," he raised his voice slightly as she started to push herself up, "get back on the SAT phone. Confirm the last set of coordinates that we gave them, and get an ETA on arrival, is that understood?"

"Yeah," JJ sniffled as she brushed her hand across her face and jumped to her feet, "understood."

It wasn't until she was standing that JJ realized her jeans were stuck to her legs. It was Emily's blood.

It had soaked through the black denim.

That realization . . . the absolute horror of it . . . was enough to make her burst into tears all over again. But that didn't slow her down as she turned and started running towards the open door.

Emily was her best friend, and her best friend needed her.

She wouldn't let her down.

JJ had cleared half the room before something else occurred to Hotch. He yelled after her.

"JJ!" he called out, "make sure to tell them that she has severe burns on her upper torso, multiple stab wounds in the same area, and that there's internal bleeding of unknown origin. There's blood coming out of her mouth."

Though for JJ's sake he tried to keep some level of clinical detachment in his voice . . . the woman was already in tears, and he didn't want to make it worse . . . his words did warble slightly at the end.

The detachment probably wasn't fooling anyone anyway.

And actually just saying the words out loud . . . just saying what that monster had done to her . . . was enough to send his rage to the boiling point again.

That was the rage that had blown off the UNSUB's hand . . . and his knee cap.

He'd just stopped himself before he'd moved to the head.

But now that blackness was coming back again, like a narrowing of his field of vision. All that he could see then was Emily . . . _his_ Emily . . . broken on the floor. Stabbed and beaten.

Burned.

And though he knew that his real focus needed to be on helping his girl . . . on getting her to wake up . . . his precarious control was starting to slip. He'd been wound too tightly for too many hours. His free hand started to curl into a fist . . . and he needed an outlet for this fury.

And the outlet was here in this old saloon.

Old time justice was now on tap.

The words were ridiculous . . . something out of a bad movie . . . but they were the first ones to pop into his head. So as soon as JJ disappeared through the doorway . . . Hotch didn't want her to see this . . . he whirled around, his eyes raked a scalding glance over the still sobbing UNSUB lying in a heap in front of Morgan and Rossi.

But Hotch wasn't really seeing the other men.

In that moment, all he was seeing then . . . was not Emily, not what had been done to her . . . but all of the things that he was capable of doing to this person who had inflicted that suffering on her.

And it wasn't just capability . . . it was a want.

A need.

He _needed _to hurt him.

And with over a decade of nightmarish case files in his head . . . over a decade of hellish pictures in his mind . . . the options for that hurt were long.

And they were horrifying.

The images of abuse and torture he was remembering, would make most people run screaming for the exits. But right now even as his gut churned with self-loathing and disgust, he was simply using them as a reference guide.

A flip book of How To Dismember a Human Being.

And as those pictures began flying faster and faster through his brain, Hotch's burning hot gaze suddenly stopped to freeze over the UNSUB's lower body. His teeth began to grind, blood filled his mouth as he bit through his tongue.

He pulled his other hand off of Emily's hip.

That one curled into a fist too. He clenched it.

Hotch was just about to get up . . . just about to do something horrific . . . when he suddenly was able to grasp onto a little thread of sanity. And it was only because he realized something.

He'd let Emily go.

He'd made a promise to himself . . . and to her . . . that he would protect her. That he wouldn't leave her alone again.

And he was about to do just that.

His head snapped up.

His furious . . . near panicked . . . gaze ran over Derek's before locking onto Rossi's. He could see the alarm in the other men's eyes.

'_Yeah guys_,' Hotch thought bitterly, '_you should be pretty fucking alarmed right now! I'm pretty fucking ALARMED myself!_'

It was taking almost everything in him to keep his place by Emily's side. His fingers had curled tightly around her hand. The stickiness of the blood there wasn't helping his control . . . it was just one trigger really . . . but he knew that's where he belonged. So that's where he needed to stay.

With her.

And he just needed to keep repeating it to himself.

But first . . . he jerked his head towards the screaming freakshow on the ground . . . this abomination needed to be dealt with.

"You need to DO something with him!" He choked out, "and I mean _right_ now. You need to do something ROSSI! PLEASE!"

The words ended on a pitch that hurt even his ears. Because at that moment Hotch had never been more terrified in his life. Not for himself . . . not even for Emily . . . but for what he was about to do. If Dave didn't get the UNSUB out of his sight . . . and if he didn't get him to SHUT THE FUCK UP in the process(!) . . . then Hotch was going to over there, and he was going to rip off that man's testicles.

That's the last image that had popped into his mind. The one that his brain had settled on.

Castration.

It was the only punishment that seemed fit. He wasn't really a man anyway, he had justified to himself, he was a monster. Men didn't treat women this way, so the testicles were unneeded. They were superfluous.

Baggage.

Baggage that Hotch was on the verge of removing with his bare hands. Of course he knew that it would be wrong . . . there weren't words for how wrong it would be . . . but that didn't matter. This creature had done unspeakable things to his Emily . . . Hotch's hand started to shake . . . so he would perform an unspeakable act in return.

It would be just.

That was the rationale anyway . . . but still . . . he swallowed as his hardened gaze fell back to Emily's bloodied body . . . a small part of him was trying to prevent him from crossing that line.

The one where he physically mutilated another human being.

Because not only was that a line that he wasn't sure that he could come back from. But . . . his face suddenly contorted in pain as he stared down at his girl . . . what would _she_ think of him? Would she think that he was a monster too? And if so, what would she do?

Would she leave him and take the baby?

She might.

Most women would. And though Emily wasn't most women . . . that's how she had become his girl, that's why he was falling in love with her, . . . that would still be a horrendous thing to ask her to accept.

Too much probably.

And that worry that she wouldn't understand him . . . that this blackness in him would frighten her away . . . was _just_ enough to keep him in his place.

Just enough to keep him by her side.

For the moment.

And though he was trying to make himself focus on her . . . on a future without her . . . it was so hard with the SCREAMING in his ears!

It was like he was just BEGGING for it!

Hotch's head snapped up again . . . that blackness was returning . . . but then Derek did something that kept him by Emily's side.

He shattered the UNSUB's face.

And it happened with such a satisfying crunch as the bones were pulverized beneath his fists . . . the blood splatter covered Dave and Morgan as the UNSUB's nose became a pile of jelly . . . that Hotch's own rage was washed back down into the darkness.

And then it was quiet.

And he could breathe again.

Any other day . . . any other moment in time . . . Hotch would have reprimanded Derek. Said something official, said that that was wrong. That they didn't treat their prisoners that way.

But this was today.

And today was different. So he just nodded a tight thanks to Derek.

It was a thanks for saving his soul.

And he could see Derek's eyes were watering as he tipped his head in return. It was a gentleman's agreement.

One that would never be discussed.

And as Morgan and Rossi turned to begin cleaning up the mess that had been made . . . they were dragging it away . . . Hotch was finally able to focus his full attention on Emily alone.

After all . . . one of his tears dropped onto her cheek and he brushed it away.

That's where it belonged.

* * *

_A/N 2: This is not the end of the scene. I actually wrote another 6k plus words that continues on directly, but there was just no time to get it all cleaned up tonight. So I put it up for vote on tumblr/twitter (post what's done, or hold it until the rest was proofed too) and the consensus was 'put the damn thing up' :)_

_Here was a little bit of a juggling act trying to touch on everybody individually, if only for a moment. So I couldn't do the whole scene from each of their viewpoints individually . . . it would have been rather awkward :) so I was went with just their actions speaking to convey their thoughts. From JJ's crying as she whispered in Emily's ear to Reid tripping over himself to run back to the SUV, to Morgan breaking the UNSUB face to stop Hotch from doing something far worse._

_And I think the far worse, given what he did to Foyet, was realistically where Hotch's brain was going. Their romantic relationship might only be a few months old, but he's falling hard for her, and she's going to be the mother of his second child (hopefully) so his primal instincts there, and his rage, are going to come boiling up. _

_And lastly, our old friend Dave the All Seeing trying to keep a lid on the pressure cooker. I see that being his role, a little older, a little less to lose, so because of that caring more about the others than himself._

_And the All Seeing Dave will see quite a bit in the upcoming part ;) And seriously the upcoming part is not only drafted, but it's also proofed. It's just not yet polished. If you write, then you know there's a difference between proofing and polishing :) _

_So POLISHING, will hopefully be done in the next day or so. My parents are actually coming to visit tomorrow (or Tuesday, the day was in flux depending on snow) so I've got to get the house in order. Plus you know, spend time with them when they get here :) So if things go well, I can maybe get the second half here up by Tuesday, mid-week at the latest._

_Last thing, I know many of you that did not read the original post of the Hours are wondering what's up with Emily's past and the fire thing, it will be explained here. And also in the Hours Redux, but the explanation will come faster in this world, so within a chapter or two the mystery will be solved!_


	17. Songs For The Soul, Both Bitter & Sweet

**Author's Note:** Here you go kids. I would have liked to have held this for another day for reasons that will be explained in the next chapter. And that's because the next chapter will be an addendum to this one. But you guys were very good doobys with all the immediate feedback (thanks much, there :)) and I didn't want to respond by being a total d-bag and saying 'ha! Suckers it's STILL not going up!' I'm guessing you all appreciate me not calling you 'suckers,' you're welcome! :)

No seriously, hopefully you will enjoy the following installment. And now I feel like I'm writing a damn soap opera.

This is picking up right where we left off. Again, opening with Rossi. I think this is the most screen time he's had in a story I wrote that wasn't in any way about him!

* * *

**Prompt Set #12 - Spring Potpourri (April 2011)**

Author: Jamie Ford

Title Challenge: Hotel On The Corner Of Bitter & Sweet

* * *

**Songs for the Soul, Both Bitter and Sweet**

Rossi's teeth ground together as he stopped in the doorway to look between Derek . . . still dragging the UNSUB out the door . . . and Hotch . . . still tending to Emily.

At the moment he wasn't sure which one of them was the more dangerous.

Hotch clearly had had murder in his eyes . . . there was a blackness there that Dave had never seen before . . . but Derek was the one that had left the UNSUB's face an unrecognizable mess. And he had done that so Hotch wouldn't have to do something even worse.

Wouldn't have to _live_, with doing something even worse.

And by Dave's estimation, Derek's actions were admirable . . . honorable even. He was a fine man.

Better even than he'd realized before.

But now Dave was starting to get worried about him . . . very worried. Because he could see that Morgan's loyalty to his chief . . . and his love for Emily . . . had already set him down a dark road that night. And Dave needed to get him off of that road before something else happened.

Something worse.

And that meant that he needed to get him away from the UNSUB.

Quickly.

So as Dave watched Morgan dragging the limp body over the threshold . . . part of him wondering if he was planning on mounting the UNSUB to the hood of the SUV . . . his brain was whirling with ideas on what to do with him.

Actually what to do with both him and Hotch. He needed to somehow keep these two men under control.

Men that were completely uncontrollable.

But then Dave realized . . . to his irritation . . . that statement was true.

They weren't controllable.

Not even a little.

They did exactly as they damn well pleased. So most likely whatever happened that night, would happen. So whatever else they did . . . Dave's gaze shifted from the now empty doorway Derek had been in a moment prior, and then back down to Hotch on the floor . . . then he'd just have to clean up after them when it was done.

That was the best that he could do.

So with that maudlin thought, Dave turned to start after Morgan again. Though at the moment the UNSUB clearly posed no threat to anyone . . . and Derek would never do anything to an unconscious man . . . the body was a dead weight to move.

And a messy weight at that.

But just as Dave took another step towards the door . . . trying to avoid the trail of blood smeared in the dust . . . something caught his eye.

Hotch.

He had leaned down to press his lips against Emily's ear . . . his hand was now resting on her stomach.

The hip he'd been touching earlier was one thing . . . yes, even with the other shit happening, Dave had noticed . . . but the stomach was something else.

Something much more personal.

And that personal movement . . . very uncharacteristic by Hotch's standards . . . was an intimate enough action to cause Dave to stand by the door for another moment. His brow was now wrinkled as he watched to see what would happen next.

And what happened next . . . raised his eyebrow even higher.

Because this man in front of him . . . this man who had moments before been on the verge or tearing another human being apart with his bare hands . . . there had been no doubt in Rossi's mind of that intent . . . was now quite tenderly running his fingers through Emily's hair.

He was brushing it back from her forehead.

And then he moved again to whisper something else in her ear. That was the same moment that his hand moved once more. It began rubbing small circles on her stomach.

Under her tank top.

And though from his distance, Dave couldn't hear any of the words that Hotch was saying . . . words weren't necessary. The subtext was screaming across the room.

The two of them were sleeping together.

Well . . . Dave's jaw snapped shut . . . shit.

That had not been expected. Not at all. Hotch's divorce was only finalized a few months earlier. And Dave had known that up until the end, he had been trying . . . actively . . . to fix his marriage to Haley. So there was just no way that Dave would have ever expected him to have moved on so soon.

But moved on he clearly had.

Because it was obvious from the amount of care that he was showing to Emily . . . the tenderness in his actions, the pain on his face . . . that this wasn't just sex, or some rebound affair. Those were things that Dave could understand. But this was different. This . . . Dave bit his lip as Hotch swiped the corner of his eye . . . was a genuine emotional bond that was being demonstrated. It might even be more than that.

It might even be love.

And that . . . Dave's eyes fell shut as he looked away . . . that was so bad.

The worst really.

Not that he personally disapproved, he didn't. In fact he had noticed since he'd arrived back in the fall . . . though hadn't thought much of it . . . that the two of them did seem to have a unique bond. And over the last few months in particular Hotch had . . . in retrospect . . . seemed much more content when Emily was around him.

And . . . Dave realized then . . . she was around him quite a bit. Constantly even.

Okay, fine. If they had found some degree of happiness together, he wished them the best.

They deserved it.

The problem was though . . . the thing that was making Rossi's stomach churn . . . was that looking at Hotch's actions in this new light . . . that of a lover seeking vengeance, and not a chief subduing an attacker . . . those three non-regulation bullets he'd fired, might as well have been nails shot into in his coffin.

His actions would never survive an inquest.

As soon as their relationship got out . . . and everything _always_ got out in the end . . . it would become a PR nightmare. And the one thing that the Bureau . . . and Erin Strauss in particular . . . HATED, were PR nightmares. It was bad press. And bad press meant that 'forceful action' would have to be taken.

And forceful action meant top down terminations.

Hotch would be gone faster than you could say "fraternization and dereliction of duty." And that was assuming that they didn't decide to prosecute him for unlawful assault on the UNSUB. And they could easily do that.

Just for fun.

And the rest of the team . . . Dave shook his head . . . God, they wouldn't just be split up. They'd be flung to the four corners of the earth. They'd be made an example of.

Every one of them.

So the UNSUB would end up getting them coming and going.

And as Dave considered that entirely fucked up . . . though all too plausible . . . future, his worries began to turn to anger.

No . . . his jaw hardened . . . that wasn't happening.

Not on his watch.

There was still time to fix it. To stop any of that from happening. But of course . . . he took a breath . . . there was really just the one thing to be done.

And he'd have to do it alone.

So with this new plan now rapidly unfurling his mind . . . his plan to save his team . . . Dave looked back one last time at the couple on the floor. His eyes stung as he saw Hotch again whispering in Emily's ear.

Probably pleading with her to wake up.

So to help that future along . . . if Emily died the team would be destroyed either way . . . Dave closed his eyes for a second.

He needed to send a prayer to The Man Upstairs.

They didn't talk often . . . neither of them listened very well to the other . . . but he did try to at least keep the lines of communication open.

In his line of work, you didn't burn a bridge like that.

So once Dave's prayers were done . . . one for Emily to live . . . and one for his plan to work . . . he turned to continue out into the cold desert air.

There wasn't much time.

/*/*/*/*/

Hearing the floorboards creak over by the door, Hotch looked up to see that Dave had followed Derek from the building.

He and Emily were all alone.

But not for long . . . Hotch turned his attention back to his girl . . . Reid and JJ should be back soon. They probably would have returned already but for how far they had to run to get back to the SUV.

A good eighth of a mile across the small mining town.

That was because then they'd first arrived, they'd had no idea which building Emily was being kept in . . . and though he hadn't admitted it to himself . . . they weren't even 100% positive that she was even _there_ until they'd actually found her. So with nothing to go on, they'd started their search with a door to door kick in from one end of the main strip to the other.

They'd gotten halfway down the opposite side of the street, before they'd heard Emily screaming.

That sound was going to be in his dreams.

But if not for that agonized screech . . . Hotch's stomach turned as he leaned back down to whisper in her ear again . . . well, they might have been too late.

But of course they might already be too late.

Because . . . his breath started to catch . . . she wouldn't open her eyes for him. He wasn't sure if that was the blood loss, or a head injury . . . or just simple exhaustion.

She had been tortured for hours.

But he was praying of course for exhaustion. Exhaustion he could handle. Because now that they were alone . . . and it was quiet . . . he could really focus on her injuries. And as he focused in on her battered face, the little stream of blood drying on her mouth . . . thank God it was drying, that meant something was clotting . . . and the burns on her arms and shoulders, he couldn't imagine how much worse things could be. All he knew was that this was his fault. He'd let her go off alone, and this is what had happened.

She'd been kidnapped . . . he leaned up to kiss her forehead . . . and tortured. And he had no idea how bad her internal injuries were.

If she was bleeding to death and he just couldn't see it.

Hotch's chest started to ache anew . . . he would give anything, literally _anything_ but Jack, if she would just open her eyes.

Open her eyes and tell him that she was going to be all right.

Even if she lied to him, that would be okay. Because a lie would be enough to last him until the Navy chopper arrived. But without that comforting lie, he was on the verge of losing his mind.

Because not only would she not wake up . . . he'd been pleading with her over and over . . . but he didn't even know if the baby was still alive. As soon as the others had turned away, he'd lifted Emily's shirt and run his fingers along her rib cage and her abdomen.

Though he had ostensibly been feeling for broken bones . . . there didn't seem to be any . . . he'd also been trying to figure out if there were any injuries near the baby. Fortunately there was nothing obvious there.

No evidence of swelling or bruising anyway.

But . . . he reminded himself . . . an eight week old fetus didn't need a direct kick to be taken out. Simply the stress of what had happened to Emily, could easily be enough to kill Hotchkin.

Hotch's eyes started to tear up again just at the thought of it.

So their baby could already be dead . . . Emily could be dying . . . and all he could do was just sit there. Sit there and watch them slip away.

He was completely useless.

But knowing that feeling sorry for himself was doing absolutely nothing but lower his own rock bottom assessment of his manhood . . . something that had already taken a terrible beating that day, he couldn't even take proper care of his new family . . . Hotch took a deep breath as he blinked away the tears in his eyes. Then he sniffled as he leaned forward again.

He just had to keep talking to her.

That was it. That was all he could do. Even if he couldn't get her to wake up, maybe she could still hear him.

And maybe his voice would make her feel better.

So his palm settled back to the spot where it kept gravitating to . . . the tiny bump. A tiny bump that he was praying was still his unborn child.

And then he pressed his lips back to Emily's ear.

"Sweetheart," he whispered for the fifth time, "I'm here." His voice started to thicken, "I'm here now and I'm so sorry that I left you alone. But I'm right beside you, and you're going to be fine. We're getting you help. JJ's getting the helicopter. So I just need you to open your eyes for me. Can you do that? Emily, _please,_" he pleaded as he gently rubbed his palm over her stomach, "please sweetheart, please open your eyes. Please do this for me. I just need to know that you're okay."

Then he stopped . . . because as with the times before . . . there was no response. She just remained still.

And he was about to lose it.

His heart . . . a heart that had already been broken to pieces once that year . . . was starting to crack into even smaller ones. Emily had only just begun to tape those pieces back together for him. But now . . . his breath started to hitch . . . his fears that he was losing her and the baby, were threatening to suffocate him.

How could God bring this woman to him . . . bring another _child_ to him . . . and then take them both away? Was that some kind of cosmic JOKE? Was his life just a punch line for some FUCKED up deity that had nothing better to do all day! Had he not paid enough penance on his soul already? What the hell were Haley and Jack?

A DOWN PAYMENT?

Just as Hotch's rage started to rise up again . . . suddenly a sound stopped him cold.

It was a moan.

His jaw dropped . . . Emily had moaned.

And then her lashes began to flutter and his own eyes popped open in shock. His despair was morphing to an indescribable joy.

SHE WAS WAKING UP!

_Thank you fucked up deity for this this ONE little break!_

It wasn't a traditional prayer of thanks, but it was all that he had in him. And Hotch watched with his heart in his throat, as Emily's eyes slowly began to open . . . the left one at least.

The right one was half swollen shut.

But still . . . he cupped her jaw with his palm . . . she was awake. And she was beautiful.

And that was enough.

"Hey," his voice was hoarse as the tears in his eyes began to pool. Though this time at least they were happy tears. "You're awake."

Emily blinked . . . it was clear that she was trying to focus, trying to remember what had happened. It took a second, but then Hotch saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes.

She knew who he was.

She knew that he was there.

And as that flicker got brighter, her mouth twisted in a faint smile.

"You're here . . ." she croaked out, "missed . . . you."

Though her words were slurred and her voice weak . . . Hotch understood her just fine. And feeling yet another wave of guilt and self-loathing . . . how would he ever make this up to her . . . one of those tears slipped down his cheek.

He quickly wiped it away.

"Yes, I'm here sweetheart. And I'm so sorry that I was late." Then he gave her a watery smile as he leaned down to press a light kiss to her swollen lips.

"But I missed you too." He murmured as he pulled away. And as he sat back slightly, his other hand gently patted the little bump.

"Both of you," he whispered.

Though the outing of their relationship was not even making Hotch's list of concerns at the moment, regardless, he was relieved that nobody else was in the building. Because he would have been saying these things . . . and touching her this way . . . regardless of whether or not they had an audience.

Because at that moment, he'd happily sacrifice his career for Emily and the baby to live.

Nothing else mattered.

His priorities . . . for the first time in years . . . had been hammered firmly into place.

Seeing the fear and guilt in Hotch's watery eyes, Emily's own began to fill with tears.

She knew how he was . . . she knew that he was blaming himself . . . and she really wasn't in much of a condition to make him feel better. It's not like she could hop up off the floor and say, "no worries! All better now!"

She was a far cry from "all better now."

But the one thing that she could do though . . . she slowly lifted her arm up . . . was to prove to him that she wasn't paralyzed, and she wasn't on the verge of death. She was just a little banged up was all.

She'd be fine.

Eventually.

Because they'd made plans . . . long term ones . . . and she wasn't about to back out of them. So . . . though it took a ridiculous amount of energy, and a lot of pain . . . she lifted her arm high enough to press her palm against his cheek.

Fortunately his face was hovering just above hers.

"Don't," she ground out slowly, her breath catching on every other word, "blame . . . self. Didn't do anything," she sucked in another shallow breath, "wrong . . . I'll be . . . fine."

Then she dragged her other hand up to drop onto his . . . now they were both covering the little bump.

"Both," she slowly exhaled the last word, "fine."

She was pretty sure they were anyway. And as long as she didn't have any concrete reasons to worry about the baby . . . as much pain as she as in, there had been no direct trauma to that area . . . then she wasn't even going to entertain the _possibility_ that something had happened to Hotchkin.

It wasn't up for discussion.

At Emily's assurances, Hotch felt a wave of relief wash over him. Then another tear slipped down his cheek.

"Are you sure," he whispered furtively, "about the baby?"

Though he hated to ask her to speak again . . . her breathing was clearly becoming more labored with the effort . . . he just needed an answer to this one question.

And then just one more.

Emily's good eye crinkled slightly.

"S'okay." she murmured with a faint nod, "No hit. No pain."

Though . . . she sucked in another shallow breath . . . it was starting to alarm her how difficult it was getting to breathe. Something wasn't right.

Something new.

Hotch repeated the words to himself . . . the baby was okay, no hit . . . no pain. Okay then . . . a tiny smile ghosted over his lips as he pressed another quick kiss to Emily's forehead . . . that was excellent news.

WONDERFUL news!

But . . . he reminded himself to temper his excitement . . . that was just one of two.

Now he needed Emily to say that she was okay too . . . his eyes started burning again . . . and he needed that more than anything.

"That's wonderful sweetheart," he whispered back, "now what about you? Are you okay?"

Please say yes Emily!

Emily stared up at Hotch for a moment, her faint smile fading as her eyes began to water furiously. She was debating or not she should lie to him about the new thing. She wanted to . . . she wanted to _so_ badly . . . but he needed to know about her breathing. Because she had no idea how much longer she'd be able to stay awake, and if she passed out again, it would be up to Hotch to tell them what had happened.

One tear spilled over and slid onto her temple . . . and that meant that he needed to know.

Even though it was going to hurt him.

"No," Emily's face crumpled as another tear fell, "no . . . sorry," she exhaled, "I'm not k."

And she could see the veiled terror fill Hotch's eyes then, though she knew that he was outwardly trying to stay calm for her.

She was starting to love him for that.

"All right," Hotch soothed as he tried to tamp down on his rising panic, "it's okay sweetheart, don't be sorry. Now," he gently rubbed his hand across Emily's stomach, "can you tell me what hurts?"

God help that creature if he ever saw him again.

"Chest," Emily rasped as one hand fell to her chest and the fingernails of her other dug into his hand, "lungs, 'ink . . . harder . . ." the tears started running down her face, ". . . eath."

"Shh, shhh, it's okay," Hotch soothed as she started to gasp, "don't talk anymore. You save your breath. The chopper will be here soon. Captain Nichols is on board, and he'll fix it. Whatever's happening," he cleared the lump in his throat, "don't worry. You're going to be just fine."

Though he was trying to keep his the calm and controlled mask in place, inside Hotch was beginning to unravel again.

Emily's words were getting harder to understand.

Something was happening.

Something bad.

Whatever tiny bit of relief he'd felt a moment before, had fled. The pit in his stomach had frozen over once more. And then Emily suddenly started to gasp.

OH CHRIST!

His head snapped back.

"REID!" He screamed towards the door, "REID! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

He had no idea whether or not he'd found a med kit, but there had to be something out there to help her!

Them.

Because . . . his stomach flipped as her gasps turned to ragged pants . . . if Emily wasn't getting enough oxygen now, then that meant that Hotchkin was getting even less.

Happy Family Take Two.

Delete.

Just the thought of it was sending him around the bend.

BUT HE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!

The lingering rage came up out of nowhere, but it served no purpose . . . none, screaming was not going to fix her . . . so he shoved it back down again.

Just then he heard the roar of the SUV . . . and a moment later Reid came pounding back into the room

JJ was on his heels ten seconds after that.

"FOUND A KIT!" He yelled as he ran up, holding the white case out in front of him. Then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "AND JJ GOT TWO BLANKETS FROM UNDER THE SEAT!"

Before Hotch could say anything . . . to ask what the FUCK had taken so long . . . not that that would have been helpful . . . he went into a full blown panic as Emily's gasping morphed into something much worse.

Choking.

It was a horrible, ragged sound . . . it was throwing her whole upper body into a convulsion. And though JJ and Reid were now yelling hysterically right in front of him, to Hotch they seemed far away. His own breath was now coming in tiny ragged gasps as well. Because he could finally see what was happening.

Emily was drowning in her own blood.

But he was terrified of moving her. What if moving her the first time had caused the problem that she was having now? What if he made things even worse?

But he couldn't leave her like this. He had to at least do SOMETHING for her!

But just as he shifted his grasp to lift her up . . . her fingernails suddenly gouged into his skin. His wild eyes snapped up to her face . . . he could see that her lips were moving.

But there was no sound.

Then he realized though . . . he already knew what she was saying.

'_Help . . . me.'_

Over and over . . . help me.

"Okay," his voice cracked as he shook off her fingers from where they were digging into his hand, "okay, hold on Emily. Let me try this," he said as he slipped his hand behind her neck and the other arm around her waist.

Now she was up on her side, with her head tipped slightly downward.

It was all that he could think that might help . . . might help and not fuck things up even worse. He didn't know if it was her lungs that were the problem, or her trachea. Though she had said that her chest hurt, that could have just been from the exertion of trying to breath, not necessarily that the lungs themselves were damaged.

And given that up until a moment ago her respirations had she'd seemed fair . . . not good, but fair . . . he was praying that it was her trachea. So his hope now was that the new position . . . on her side, head tipped . . . would at least keep the blood from pooling in her throat.

And though she was still coughing, the convulsive element had passed. It seemed like she was starting to suck in a bit more air than before.

He tipped his head down.

"Is that better?" He asked with a catch in his voice. And she gasped again . . . it came with a squeak . . . as her head moved slightly.

It seemed to be a yes.

But she was obviously still in distress . . . and he was trying to think of a Plan B . . . when suddenly she gagged . . . and then a large clot of blood came flying out of her mouth.

It stuck to the F on his vest.

It hung there.

"Aaron . . ." she gasped, "hospital."

Those were the first legible words that she'd gotten out in almost a minute. And even though her breathing was still labored, Hotch felt a tiny wave of joy wash back.

Her color was returning. It still wasn't a healthy shade of anything.

But it was better.

That clot . . . something she must have thrown . . . had to have been what was blocking her windpipe.

At least it had cleared.

"Soon," Hotch murmured, his fingers rubbing the back of her neck as he tried to give her a reassuring smile.

It probably would have been more effective if his eyes weren't watering.

"I _promise_ Emily," he continued softly, "we're leaving very soon. We're just waiting for the helicopter. So all you have to do is just breath and stay awake."

Then he leaned down to press his lips to her ear.

"For me. Please sweetheart, I know that you're exhausted, but please just try to stay awake until they get here," he leaned back slightly to give her another faint smile, "can you do that? It shouldn't be more than ten minutes. Can you stay awake for ten more minutes?"

That's when JJ cut in . . . he'd almost forgotten she was there.

"Twelve," she said with a catch in her voice, "they said they were twelve minutes out."

And that was a few minutes ago so hopefully . . . JJ's fingers dug into her palm . . . they'd be there even sooner.

"Okay," Hotch smoothly corrected, "twelve. Twelve minutes," he shook his head at Emily, "and that's not very long at all. You can do twelve minutes, right?"

She just survived eight hours with a serial killer, twelve minutes were nothing.

Emily wrapped her fingers back around Hotch's hand . . . if he wanted her to do this, then she needed to hold onto him. So once she had him in her grasp, she took the deepest breath that she could manage . . . it wasn't much, but it was a hell of a lot better than a moment before . . . and breathed out one letter.

"K."

Though it was a bit hoarse, she was sure that the word was at least an understandable one.

Her throat was still clear.

But her chest hurt like a bitch . . . she bit down a grimace as Hotch shifted her slightly . . . everything hurt like a bitch.

And she was now beyond exhausted.

But she'd just promised Hotch that she'd stay awake for him . . . she slowly tipped her head forward against his vest . . . and she was going to try her damndest to keep that promise. It was one of many that they had made to each other. They were trying to build a life.

And that was done one promise at a time.

"Okay," Hotch breathed out a sigh of relief as he shifted his arm to tuck Emily against his chest, careful not to block her mouth or nose, "good girl. Now," he finally tore his eyes away from the woman now resting in his arms, and up to Reid standing over him.

He looked like he was going to cry . . . his gaze shifted over.

JJ already was.

"She's okay guys," Hotch whispered to them as he tugged Emily a little closer to his body, "really, she'll be fine. She's just exhausted. But she's breathing okay now. But I have to hold her steady so I need you to help me bandage her up, okay?"

Somehow . . . though he was reaching a point of emotional exhaustion himself . . . he was able to keep his voice steady for the two youngest members of his team.

But JJ and Reid were like Jack. He needed to watch out for him. And sometimes he needed to lie and say that everything was going to be just fine.

Even when he wasn't sure if it would be.

Jolted by Hotch's words, Reid immediately blinked away the tears forming . . . he didn't cry in front of his boss, not if he could help it anyway . . . as he dropped down to his knees.

"Right," his words were shaky as he opened the kit and started digging, "okay, um, I got some bandages and uh . . . uh . . ."

Reid's voice faded as he began frantically blinking again. His gaze had caught on the festering welts that had formed on Emily's shoulders.

The burn marks.

This wasn't even close to the worst attack that he'd seen in his career . . . the worst was a teenage boy that had been half skinned alive . . . but there was no comparison when it was somebody that you loved.

But he knew that he needed it in gear.

Emily needed him.

So his attention snapped back to the packet in his hands.

"Burn cream," he choked out, "I found some um, burn cream."

And as he felt JJ crouch down beside him . . . her hand falling to his back . . . Reid took a breath. He was trying not to think about how much worse things would have been if Emily had been missing as long as he had been. Though the tears started to pool as he tried to tear open the first packet of cream from the kit.

They would have found her in pieces.

When he looked back up . . . still with the mangled packet in his hands . . . Hotch was staring at him. And for a moment, Reid was mortified that he'd seen him in tears . . . he must think that he's being SO unprofessional . . . but then he realized that Hotch's eyes were wet too.

And red.

He'd been crying.

Before Reid could process that . . . that Hotch could be so, human . . . the other man had looked away. Then he pointed to Emily's back.

"That's good Spencer," Hotch murmured as he pointed to the two worst welts on her back, "that's very good. Now," he moved his finger slightly, "just a bit here and here around the edges where it's pink, but be careful to stay away from the center where it's weeping."

He didn't want the cream to cause a problem, but he knew how much pain she had to have been in.

Her skin had turned to ash in places.

"After that," he continued softly as JJ took the packet from Reid's hand and ripped it open, "get the bandages. We can deal with the other burns after we get the cuts addressed."

The bleeding was the most important thing, and under other circumstances, Hotch would have had him start there. But under these circumstances . . . with the burns being so gruesome . . . and the worst of the bleeding having now tapered off . . . the slash marks had finally started to clot . . . the reverse approach was better.

They could do nothing for the damage inside Emily's body . . . and Hotch knew that there was definitely some, that blood she'd choked on came from somewhere . . . but they could do something for the damage on the outside. So he wouldn't let her keep suffering with the burns if they had the Lidocaine right in front of them. It was just a slight numbing agent.

But any numbing was better than nothing at all.

And that's when Hotch realized that . . . though JJ had handed him back the packet before she turned to start digging in the kit again . . . Reid hadn't applied the cream yet.

His hand was just hovering over Emily's back.

So Hotch raised his head to ask him what he was doing . . . but the words stopped at the tip of his tongue.

There was a look of shear panic on the younger man's face.

He was terrified of hurting her.

Of course.

"It's okay Spencer," Hotch gently reassured him as he patted Emily's hip, "right Emily," he leaned down to whisper, "can you nod your head to tell Spencer that it's okay?"

He hated to ask her to do anything, but the only person that was going to make this better for Reid, was Emily.

And sure enough, his girl didn't let him down. He felt her head brush against his chest right before one syllable was murmured.

"S . . . kay,"

Emily didn't so much speak the words as exhale them. She was so tired . . . her eyes were half shut . . . and everything hurt, so that was the best that she could manage. But she could tell from Hotch's second pat on her hip, that it had been enough.

A second she heard Spencer murmur, "if you're sure Em," right before he lightly pressed his fingers into her shoulders.

And then there was a cooling sensation.

She immediately tensed up . . . and she felt the others freeze as well. But just before Hotch asked the question . . . should they keep going . . . she nodded again.

She wasn't sure if they could see it . . . unfortunately she didn't have the energy for anymore talking . . . but somehow Hotch understood. Emily eyes began to fill with fresh tears as she tucked her head against his vest.

Hotch always understood.

And thank God for that, because as she heard the others continue to rip open packages . . . first of cream . . . then of gauze . . . finally of tape . . . Hotch always knew when to tell him to stop, when to give her a minute.

Then . . . without her saying a word . . . he'd know when it was okay to start up again. She loved him for that.

She was starting to love him for a lot of things.

And as soon as they were alone again . . . and she could communicate beyond single syllables of course . . . she was going to tell him that. Because today had reminded her that they couldn't put off these conversations.

Their world was much too dangerous for that.

Not that they had been purposely putting off such discussions . . . they were actually very affectionate and loving . . . but it had been too soon for out and out "I Love Yous."

And maybe it still was.

That was . . . by Emily's estimation . . . the last hook to tie them together. But she didn't throw the phrase around lightly. Nor . . . she knew . . . did Hotch. But it wasn't too soon for an "I love this about you," or "that about you."

It was definitely not too soon for those.

It was probably past time for those.

And when the bandaging was done, and Reid shifted around to start dabbing cream on her remaining burns . . . the minor ones that the UNSUB had made on her arms . . . she suddenly felt Hotch tense up.

At first she felt a bolt of fear . . . though she knew that Hotch would have incapacitated the UNSUB, she didn't exactly what they'd done with him . . . but then she heard a noise. Probably the one that he'd heard a moment before

The helicopter.

They were leaving.

She'd barely processed that development . . . her brain was becoming sluggish with pain . . . when she had to bite back a moan as she felt herself being lifted off the ground.

Hotch had scooped her up as he stood.

Then she heard him whispering that he was sorry . . . he knew that he'd jostled her . . . before ordering Reid to go meet the chopper.

As Emily heard the sneakers pounding across the floorboards . . . Reid running out . . . Hotch then asked JJ to come help him shift her. A second later JJ's perfume filled her senses, and Emily smiled against Hotch's chest.

It was the closest she'd come to her. And JJ's scent . . . though so distinctly feminine . . . was in many ways like Hotch's.

It was a comfort.

It was her family.

"Jayje," she murmured faintly as she felt the small hands brush over her body.

She felt like she'd been talking to her earlier . . . though she couldn't imagine when that could have been.

"Hey Em," JJ murmured, trying to hide the lump in throat as she leaned in next to Hotch, "let me know if I hurt you, okay?"

God, please don't let me hurt her.

Hotch's expression softened as he looked down at the blonde in front of him . . . she looked terrified.

"JJ, I just need you to shift her weight up a little bit and wrap the blanket around her. I don't want to jostle her again, but it's too cold out there. But just be easy, okay?"

Though it would have obviously been preferable . . . under other circumstances . . . to let the doctor come to them, they didn't have the time for that. By the time the chopper landed somewhere on the outskirts of the town . . . the main street was over a century old and too narrowly built for helicopter blades . . . and then Captain Nichols ran down with a nurse and a stretcher, minutes would have been lost.

And then . . . Hotch stooped down slightly for JJ to slip the blanket around Emily . . . more minutes would be lost as he attempted to assess her injuries on the floor.

They could do that in the air.

So as soon as he felt Emily was warm enough and secure in his arms . . . her breathing was shallow but steady against his throat . . . he turned and started for the door.

"One minute sweetheart," he whispered, "one minute and you'll see Captain Nichols, and then we'll be on our way back to base."

In response he heard a slight murmur . . . and felt a small vibration on his skin . . . so he knew that she was still awake.

Good girl.

Now there just better be room for him on the damn chopper. If there wasn't . . . he slowed at the doorway to let JJ get in front of him . . . she was going to make sure he didn't trip over anything in the dark . . . then he was kicking somebody out.

One thing was for sure . . . they stepped out into the cool desert air . . . he wasn't sending Emily off alone.

Not again.

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_A/N 2: There, after all the angsting and adrenaline and messy blood bits, you got some H/P TLC. FINALLY! And you now know as much about Hotchkin's status as it's parents do :)_

_It was awful reading up on burn care. Seriously, if you can avoid looking at pictures of second and third degree burns, please do so. But basically though, I could see no treatment advising against some topical lidocaine being applied in this situation. There is ANOTHER type of burn cream that they do advise against using because it slows down healing time, but that's not the OTC crap. _

_Otherwise, when they get to the base, we'll find out what's going on with Em's insides._

_And the addendum I mentioned, that will be brief, and it will follow up with Dave and Derek. But beyond that coming in relatively short order, though I am keeping this on the front burner, I'm not promising a certain posting timeframe on the next major chapter. Because whenever I do that, I jinx myself. Something happens and it doesn't go up. So, we'll just say we'll get there when we get there, and I will try to get there sooner than later :)_

_Otherwise, other stories are due for updates. The Hours and Cranky Bastard are closer to the front of the lineup. Others will come as ready._

_**PROMPTS**__: Forums are fixed so prompts went up in both TV and Story Title. If interested, you can get to the forums from my profile page._


	18. Necessary Evils

**Author's Note**: I know it's been forever, and this isn't a terribly long chapter, but it does kick a major plot point forward. And kicking the can down the road is the goal here :)

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_****NEW WEBSITE: www . fractured-reality . com**_

_I have a new website. If interested, you can read more about it (and my future on FF . net) on my Tumblr listed below. It's the June 10__th__ note._

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**TV Prompt Set #1**

Show: Deadwood

Title Challenge: I Am Not the Fine Man You Take Me For

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**Necessary Evils**

Rossi stood back in the shadows, watching from the other end of the dark street as Emily was loaded into the Navy chopper.

First there had been an interminable three minutes on the ground while the doctor checked her over, but now the blades were beginning to spin again.

And that meant that they were leaving.

Finally.

As soon as Emily disappeared into the small space, the Navy doctor clambered in behind her . . . then Hotch . . . and finally the two members of the flight crew that had carried Emily's backboard.

And then . . . watching Reid and JJ scrambling to a safe distance . . . Rossi's fists began to curl.

It was almost time.

Still though, he waited. Waited until the brightly lit chopper lifted off the ground, and the kids . . . as old as they were, that's what they would always be to him . . . had run back down the street to where they'd last parked the SUV.

It was half up on the rotting sidewalk in front of the old saloon.

They jumped in, and Reid yelled out the window for him just as JJ pressed down hard on the horn. Oddly enough, the urgency of the situation could be heard in the bleating sound of that inanimate object.

Almost like it knew that they had an emergency.

Which of course they did. Still. And the kids were definitely expecting that he would leave their moaning . . . disabled . . . prisoner, to go see them. To get an update on Emily, and run down with them what was going to happen next.

But he wasn't going to go see them . . . and he wasn't going to get any updates, or run anything down.

He wasn't moving an inch.

Suddenly seeing movement from stage left, Dave's eyes snapped to the side.

Derek.

Running out of the saloon that he'd raced back into a moment ago. And though Dave had no idea what he had been doing in there, after he had crossed the few additional yards to the SUV, which was where he was _supposed_ to be, where Dave had _sent_ him . . . to see the others . . . he handed something to JJ through the driver's side window.

From a distance . . . and the vague shape visible in the moonlight . . . it looked maybe like Emily's gun. And perhaps her credentials. He must have found them inside. Dave's jaw twitched.

They would have been souvenirs.

Now fighting to push down the rage working its way up . . . he needed to stay detached to do this right . . . Dave watched while Derek conveyed the orders that he had already requested be passed along. And he knew that was exactly what Derek was doing, because Derek was a good soldier. And good soldiers always followed orders.

That's why Dave needed for him to be the one.

The one to stay, even as he told JJ and Reid that they were to leave without them. That he and Rossi would wait for the sheriff and his deputies to arrive and take their prisoner. And then Derek would say . . . hell, he was probably already saying it . . . that _Rossi_ had decided that they should go. That it would be best for them to be with Emily.

The two of them could handle things alone.

In reality, the kids shouldn't be leaving. Absolutely not. Even if they had instinctually run over to the SUV expecting to be able to follow Emily back to base, Rossi should have been instructing them to stay. Telling them that their job there wasn't quite done. That they needed to help complete the door to door search of the town. They had to make sure that there were no other victims bound.

No other bodies rotting.

And the kids would understand. Because even in their panic and fear about Emily's condition, they still knew how this worked.

How never ending it all was.

Because people went missing in Death Valley all the time. That fact is what had triggered this whole God forsaken trip to the middle of nowhere. Which meant that even though they hadn't been looking for anyone besides Emily when they'd crashed into town, that didn't mean that Emily was the only one to find. The desert was a big place.

And a cruel one at that.

So Dave could absolutely guarantee that before they flew home, every fucking INCH, of this God forsaken ghost town, will have been crawled over with a microscope. And he would make sure that happened, because he was going to do it himself. He would begin in a minute.

Maybe three.

There was just something else that needed to be done first.

But now he could see that other action _would_ be completed in just a moment. Because now JJ was passing Derek their stash of Mag lights.

And then the mud splattered SUV was peeling out.

Loose strands from JJ's ponytail were blowing through the window as she banged the hard U turn. And once she'd gotten them turned around, she gunned the engine.

And then they were off.

Dave bit his lip.

His eyes were following the red lights, watching as they rapidly rolled away . . . and then began fading into the open black that was the desert surrounding them.

Further and further they went . . . he was counting the seconds . . . he knew that Derek was doing the same. And he knew Derek was doing that because he was a good soldier . . . and he was a good friend. And though he might have had initial doubts about sending the others away, he'd immediately gotten on board with Dave's reasoning for that decision. Because Dave had pointed out that it would be best . . . given their own shared abduction history . . . to let Reid and JJ get out of this shithole situation sooner than later. It was rolling up on midnight, and they'd already been on the verge of hysterics since they'd found Emily. So with the sheriff and his team on the way to help with the search, they should just let the other two go back to the base now.

It would do them a hell of a lot more good to pace in the waiting room with Hotch, than chase ghosts in this old mining town.

And though that specific worry for the mental state other two hadn't seemed to have occurred to him on his own . . . probably too distracted with his own grief . . . Derek had immediately nodded when Dave pointed it out. Then his gaze shifted to the ground as he muttered.

"You're absolutely right, man. Absolutely right. They should go."

So though Morgan was on board with the . . . perfectly logical . . . decision to splinter the team into three scattered groups rather than just the two . . . them on the ground, Hotch and Emily in the air . . . he still didn't quite know the score.

That was okay though . . . Dave slowly slipped his weapon out of its holster . . . he wasn't supposed to know. That was the whole point.

It would be what saved him.

And as he saw Morgan finally turned towards him, Dave couldn't help but note that his body was half in shadows, and half outlined by the artificial light pooling through the door of the saloon. He looked like a man caught between two worlds. And of course he was.

As were they all.

Just as Derek began to take a step, Dave called out, making sure to tuck his gun behind his back before Morgan noticed it was out.

"The flashlights are good, but we'll need those lanterns in there for the search. We'll put them in the street. But leave one in the doorway. We'll use the saloon as base."

His voice echoed across the darkness and through the now still night.

The sound gave him the creeps.

If it had the same effect on Morgan, Rossi didn't know. All he saw was the other man give a tight nod right before he put the three mag lights on the ground, and turned to hurry back inside the old structure.

Good soldier following orders.

Once he disappeared . . . and knowing that he would only be gone for a moment . . . Dave finally got down to the business of doing what needed to be done.

God forgive him.

Rossi's hardened gaze dropped down to the UNSUB lying a few feet away from him. He was curled up in a fetal position, whimpering softly into his forearm. His ruined face . . . and his good arm . . . were only half visible in the shadows. That was just perfect.

That shadow would make what happened next all the more believable.

Dave leaned down. One hand was on his thigh, the other was busy sliding the trigger off his gun.

"You're not going to jail," he hissed, "you're about to attempt a pathetic escape. You had a knife hidden that I missed on the initial search. This one right here," Dave continued while using his glove to pull a small, bloodied, switchblade from his jacket pocket and snapping it open, "you're going to pull it on me, and I'm all alone out here, and a little jittery, and I'm going to accidentally shoot you. I won't mean to kill you, but you won't survive your injuries."

Even in the shifting darkness, the rising terror was visible on the UNSUB's pained, broken face. Dave's lip quirked up. He knew that his smile was terrifying.

That was the point.

"I just wanted you to know that this bullet was coming," he dropped the knife down into the dirt by the UNSUB's hand, "you deserved that hell. I only wish it could have lasted a little longer."

The fingerprints were already on the knife. Dave had taken care of that when the UNSUB was still unconscious and everyone else had been focused on getting Emily onto the backboard. He'd even smeared it in the blood and urine to make it look like it had been hidden down in the UNSUB's briefs.

Which would be Dave's explanation on how he'd missed it on the initial search.

It wouldn't be the first time some jackass hid a knife in his shorts. Questions would be asked, but Rossi was prepared to answer them. And if they didn't buy his story, he was prepared for the consequences . . . as bad as they could get. But . . . he sucked in a breath . . . at least the others would be saved.

That was all that mattered.

So he fired.

Just one shot, it was aimed to look like a startle reaction. The muzzle fire flashed in the darkness, illuminating the spray of blood as the bullet sliced diagonally through a man's frontal lobe.

Oops.

As he'd expected would happen next, Derek immediately came racing back out of the saloon.

"ROSSI!" he screamed while pulling his gun, "ROSSI ARE YOU OKAY?!"

"I'm fine Morgan."

Dave's voice was low, calm . . . detached. He was already re-holstering his weapon. He no longer cared.

It was done.

One more body . . . one more glass of scotch at the end of the day. That was the price to save Hotch. The price to save their team.

And it was a price that he could live with.

So when Derek ran up, gun hanging by his side, jaw slack at the expanding pool of inky blood visibly shining in the moonlight, Rossi didn't even blink.

"Wha . . . wha . . . what the FUCK, MAN!?"

The stammer was one of disbelief.

Rossi had just blown away their UNARMED, DISABLED, prisoner! Yeah, Morgan had wanted him dead too, but seriously_, _WHAT THE FUCK?!

"It was an accident," Rossi responded calmly as he met Derek's shocked gaze, "I had my back to him, I was looking down the street to see where we should start the search, when I heard a noise from behind me. When I spun back around, I saw the flash of the knife and I was startled, I stumbled, and I fired." He shrugged, "I don't know, I guess I guess the knife was in his shorts and I missed it in the rush earlier. But," he pointed to the mess at his feet, "what's done is done. I know it looks bad, but it was an accident Derek, really, and he's dead now. And I can't fix that."

And with that, Rossi was done 'making his statement.' He just needed for Derek to be able to repeat that statement to the sheriff . . . and the FBI review board . . . with a straight face. And there was enough plausibility to the story that it would be hard to punch holes in it. It had been a terrible day. He was stressed and tired and alone in the dark with a serial killer.

And that's when accidents happened.

Was it a 'convenient' accident, yes? But it was still a plausible one. And nobody was going to WANT to believe that a decorated FBI agent would just execute a maimed prisoner, in cold blood.

It was too ridiculous.

Even Hotch . . . who would of course be the first one to ask what the fuck happened . . . would find it impossible to believe that he would have decided to randomly kill their UNSUB when he was the one that had tried to keep everybody calm earlier.

So they would believe his lie.

And with that lie already implanting itself in Morgan's brain . . . he could see it in the way he was frantically rubbing his forehead, trying to reconcile the words that had been spoken with the visual in front of him . . . Rossi clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm going to go get those lanterns."

And with that Rossi walked away. He didn't look back even when Morgan called his name. There was no point in turning back.

There was nothing more to say.

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_A/N 2: As to whether you believe it's in Rossi's character to kill an UNSUB under these circumstances, people would have to decide that for themselves. Personally, obviously, I think that he would. I think they're all capable of it under the right circumstances, and here, these were the right circumstances for him. He doesn't operate under the rule of law like a (clear headed) Hotch or Morgan. Dave was a soldier, he saw a threat to his team, he removed it. That was the last thing he wanted going in there, but in the end it was the only way he could think to save them. The injuries the others inflicted will be incidental next to the bullet in the UNSUB's skull. That came from Rossi's gun alone. The other injuries weren't lethal. And he made sure that he insulated the others from any responsibility by sending them all away. As to whether his story will pass the OFFICIAL smell test, time will tell. It is kind of a bullshit story, but, it's also the kind of bullshit story that's rather hard to disprove too. There's nothing specifically to contradict what he's saying. Not to say there won't be consequences either way, but we shouldn't get ready to ship Rossi off to the pokey quite yet._

_I'm not going to promise to get this bouncing along quickly again, BUT, after re-reading the last half dozen chapters, I do think I've figured out my approach for the next scene. So I'll try to get it into rotation. And anyone out there who thinks I'll let all these poor little stories languish forever, please note Aaron and Emily and Everything Happens for A Reason. Those both sat and sat, then suddenly the whole thing became crystal clear and I wrapped them up in a month :) So, never say never about any of them!_

_And thank you EVERYBODY for all the kind notes I've been getting on the last few posts!_


	19. The Waiting Game

**Author's Note**: First, thank you everybody for the super enthusiastic response to the last chapter! Apparently you guys were kind of happy to see it come back ;)

So moving on, this is what I call a 'workhorse' chapter. And that means it's a chapter needed to move the plot forward, but it's not necessarily 'beautiful' :) But if it does its job, then hopefully we can move forward a bit more smoothly from here.

For the story, Hotch doesn't know that Dave has blown away the UNSUB. He's still all alone. Even though it's been almost two hours since they left the desert, JJ and Reid haven't arrived yet. If you'll recall, it was almost two hours of Hotch driving over 100 maniacal miles per hour just to get out there. So obviously it's going to take the others longer to get back.

Lastly, please remember, I'm not a doctor. I did research some for this chapter, but as I've mentioned before when it's comes to topics I need to research, I'm not getting paid for this crap :) So, basically my research is intended to make as plausible story as possible given my super limited writing time. It is not intended to hold up to a New England Journal of Medicine, review. Basically, if you do hold some medical expertise, keep in mind I keep the language around my diagnoses 'loose' for a reason :)

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**The Waiting Game**

Hotch's jaw twitched as he paced back and forth in the small surgical waiting area of the base clinic. His fingers, recently washed clean of Emily's blood, were curled into tight fists. And out of the corner of his eye, he could see that one of the nurses was watching him.

It was the same woman . . . the lieutenant . . . that had assisted with Emily's ultrasound that morning.

Since the chopper had landed forty plus minutes earlier she seemed to have either been appointed . . . or had appointed herself . . . as the official buffer between him and Dr. Nichols.

However she got the role, a mediator had definitely been required.

After they'd rolled Emily inside the building, Hotch had wanted to gown up and join Nichols in the surgical area. Nichols . . . the fucking asshole that he was . . . had vetoed that option outright.

Okay . . . Hotch's jaw clenched a little more . . . the guy wasn't _really_ an asshole. He'd actually been very kind to them that morning. And very decent, to both him and Emily, on the flight back. It wasn't until _after_ they'd landed that Hotch had started to have a serious problem with him.

Aka, hate his guts.

That was when Nichols had put his foot down. Telling Hotch that they needed to do some tests and stitch and dress Emily's wounds, and that it would just be better for everyone if all of that was done without any "distractions."

That was his polite Navy doctor way of saying that Hotch would just be in the way.

And though some tiny part of Hotch's rational brain understood that the doctor MIGHT have had a valid point . . . after all he didn't want any terrified hand wringing family members standing around his office while HE worked . . . the tiny rational part of his brain was still not back in the driver's seat. No, it was the primal _'my woman, my baby'_ part of his brain that was still running the show. And _that_ guy didn't give a flying FUCK about any perfectly rational explanations as to why he needed to be separated from HIS woman and HIS baby!

He wanted to be back with them NOW!

Those hours that he'd been searching for Emily, wondering God knows what was being done to her by that animal, had been horrible. And being back together during the fifty plus minutes of flight time, had been nowhere near enough to settle his nerves. Or his heart.

It was still racing.

And that was in part because of Emily's condition on the chopper. Though she'd somehow managed to keep up her end of the bargain to stay conscious until help arrived, after that it was just too much. She was in and out. And though Hotch knew . . . intellectually . . . that at least a portion of that was just pure exhaustion and simple blood loss, it didn't make him feel any better about her eyes being shut.

He wanted them open.

He wanted her to smile and squeeze his hand, and tell him that she was feeling much better, and that everything was going to be just fine now.

But she didn't do any of those things.

And she wasn't _going_ to do any of those things . . . not for a while. And that was tearing him up inside. The only reason that he'd been able to keep his temper (so far) while he paced around the waiting room, was that he'd had one bit of _relatively_ good news since Emily had disappeared off into the triage room. And he'd been holding onto that little bit of good news like the pearl that it was. The nurse . . . Lieutenant Buffer Zone . . . had come out to tell him that Captain Nichols had diagnosed the cause of the blood that Emily had coughed up.

He said it was due to a small puncture in one of her lungs.

Not that that was in any way 'good' news all on its own, but then the nurse had gone on to explain that as Emily was still technically breathing on her own . . . though she'd been on supplemental oxygen the moment she was loaded onboard the chopper . . . and that the intense chest pain she'd experienced had only been of a short duration, that the doctor thought that it was unlikely that "Agent Prentiss" had any serious internal damage to either her lungs, or her upper respiratory tract.

_THAT _was the good news, she'd explained. It meant that it was likely that they could just let the puncture heal up on its own.

No surgery.

Hotch had been thrilled to hear that one. The less additional trauma they had to put Emily's body through, the better. Not just for her, but for Hotchkin as well. And during her moments of consciousness, Hotchkin . . . of course . . . had been Emily's ONLY concern. Though Captain Nichols was adamant that she not attempt to speak, Emily was still MORE than capable of getting her point across about the baby.

And she wasn't taking any bullshit response from him.

Every time he tried to hedge about possible trauma to their child, she'd shaken her head and tapped her fingers lightly on her stomach. Finally the captain had given in, and gave her the straight answer . . . that he had no idea of the baby's condition. That he couldn't give her any answers until after the ultrasound.

And when Emily's eyes had filled with tears . . . and Hotch had been ready to punch the guy in the face for things that were not at all his fault . . . Nichols had quickly added that it was very "encouraging" though that she wasn't experiencing any pain. Then he said that it was best for her to keep a positive thought, and that there was no reason for her to worry unnecessarily.

That had been enough to calm her down again.

From that point on, until they'd landed twenty minutes later, she'd just held Hotch's onto hand, her eyes locked on the blackness out the window. There was some world out there that she was looking into, that he couldn't see.

She hadn't tried to communicate again.

So Hotch had had no idea what she was thinking for those last twenty minutes of flight, but he knew what he was thinking about the doctor's words. And he knew that if God made him choose between the two of them . . . though it would break his heart . . . he would choose Emily over the baby.

And he would choose her every damn time.

Because he was falling in love with her. And he couldn't lose her. Not now. They could always have another baby . . . tears started to prick his eyes . . . but he couldn't have another Emily.

Her loss would leave a hole in his world.

But he also believed that Emily . . . if she had a say . . . would make the other choice. That she would see herself in a coma, a vegetable gestating their unborn child for the next six months, before she'd allow Hotchkin to die.

She wanted the baby just that much.

And that was his thought as he looked at her bloody fingers, wrapped around his own. He was wondering if she knew that he would never allow her to sacrifice herself. And if she did know . . . and so often now she seemed to know his thoughts even before he had them . . . what did she think about that? Because Hotch's fears weren't just for the physical well-being of his little family, there was more. His terror that if he was forced to let the baby go to save Emily, that he'd lose Emily anyway.

That she wouldn't forgive him.

So that was the hell of his chopper ride back. And then Emily had been ripped away from him, and he'd gotten to pace a hole in the floor for the last fifty . . . his head snapped up to check the clock on the wall again . . . _four_ minutes, waiting for an update on her condition.

And he got to pace oh so impatiently for another eleven minutes before he heard Lieutenant Buffer Zone call his name. He spun around and she pointed to a corridor off to the left.

She said he could go down, the doctor would be waiting.

The "thank you" had barely passed his lips before Hotch had taken off at a sprint heading around the corner. Then . . . up at the far end . . . he saw Captain Nichols stepping out into the hall. He was snapping off his gloves.

Thank Christ!

"Captain, how is she?!" Hotch called out anxiously as he continued hurrying down the corridor, watching the doctor dump his gloves and booties in the biohazard bin.

"Is she still awake?! How's the baby?!"

The questions were still being shot rapid fire before he'd even approached normal conversational distance. And he saw Nichols lip curl slightly as he put his hand up.

"One at a time. First," he said with pointed nod and gesture for Hotch to move a few steps over to the side of the corridor, "let's get out of the road here."

It wasn't exactly a metropolitan hospital, but there were still people around. So once they'd moved over, Dr. Nichols leaned his shoulder against the wall.

"Now then," he took in a breath, "Agent Prentiss is sleeping, but she is basically okay. Small bump on her head, no concussion. And most of her cuts and bruises, though they do look pretty bad, are actually relatively superficial. Soft tissue, not deep tissue injuries. She did need some stitches, but overall those injuries should heal up over the next one to three weeks. And as to the burns," his jaw tightened, "the one _advantage_ of them coming from, as you explained, a fire poker, is that the resulting burn patterns were very small in diameter. Though there are a couple of bad spots, they're still measured in millimeters. So with that very minimal exposure of raw flesh, the odds of infection are not high. We'll just keep everything clean and dry until the raw areas start to heal over. I think in about week, give or take a few days, she should be completely out of the woods there."

Hotch slowly exhaled . . . given how bad Emily looked, all of that was much better news than he could have expected. Or imagined.

He was also amazed that she didn't have any broken bones.

"That's great doctor," he nodded, "thank you." Then his left hand curled back into a fist. "And what about her lung? Do you still think we can avoid surgery?"

That was the biggest minefield . . . next to injuries to the baby of course.

"Yes," the captain nodded, "I think we can. CT confirmed a tiny puncture in her left lung. It was probably just the tip of the blade, but the wound appears to have clotted, and her airway is clear, so provided she stays stable and doesn't have any more breathing issues, we are going to try and let that heal on its own."

Hotch swallowed.

"Okay," he nodded as his fingers clenched slightly, "that's good. And um," he swallowed, "the baby?"

Though his first focus was Emily, of course he was praying that he still had a whole family back there. So it was to his undying relief, that to that question, Dr. Nichols gave him a weary smile.

"Yes," his eyes crinkled, "the baby's okay too. You guys got really lucky there. Fetal heart rate was slightly elevated but given the stress to mom, that was not unexpected. I'm not an OB, but if Agent Prentiss wasn't already going to be confined to a hospital bed, I'd order at least a week of bed rest for her just to let things settle with the fetus. So I'm quite sure when Dr. McNamara, that's our gynecologist, does come in tomorrow, that he's going to order the same. He might want her on bed rest longer, but I'm sure it'll be at least a week before he'll allow her to do anything besides go to the bathroom." Then Nichols finger came up, "and with that _lung_, I don't want her flying anytime soon either. I know you guys aren't military, but you're not civilians either so we can make an argument to keep you here. I'll clear it with the CO. We might not be the biggest medical facility in the state, but our people are experienced, most of us are combat vets, and Agent Prentiss will get top notch care here. And she's probably going to _be_ here, for at least two weeks."

Hotch nodded tightly.

"Understood. And thank you for letting us stay. So um," he hesitantly cleared his throat, "may I uh, may I see her?" He bit his lip. "Please?"

Though he was of course grateful for what Dr. Nichols had done, it still killed him to ask nicely. Again, it was _his_ family. But he also knew very well that with Emily's injuries, the doctor could justify keeping him out of the room for the rest of the night.

Not that he would have _accepted_ that decision . . . no way in hell . . . but he figured before he broke out any weaponry, that he should at least start with the soft sell.

But then he saw the doctor's eyes crinkle slightly.

"I didn't think that we'd be able to keep you out of there. And our patient ward is pretty empty right now. A corpsman who chopped off half his pinky finger working in the mess. And one compound fracture from a training accident this morning. So," Nichols huffed out a breath, "the nurse is making up a bed for you next to Agent Prentiss." Then his eyebrow rose up in amusement.

"Was I correct in presuming that you'd want to stay here until she's released?"

"Yes," Hotch nodded firmly, "yes, I absolutely do, thank you very much." Then his expression softened slightly, "and I appreciate the special consideration, on all counts. Truly. And I apologize if I was a little uh," he tipped his head, "rude, earlier."

Okay, now he felt like a complete asshole for all of the terrible things that he'd been thinking about Nichols for the last hour.

"No problem," Nichols clapped him on the shoulder just before he started to walk away backwards, "I've got a fiancé too."

Then he continued moving backwards, while making a gesture off to the right.

"Go around the corner, short hall. The patient ward is at the end. Double doors, you can't miss it. And the nurses have been told that you have special privileges, so nobody should give you any problems. Let me know if they do."

And with that, Nichols turned and started walking away, pulling off his scrub cap as he went back the way he'd came.

"Thank you doctor," Hotch called out. And he got a half wave back over his shoulder.

And then for the first time that night, a faint smile touched Hotch's lips. The tightness in his chest was starting to lessen.

His heart was beating normally again.

Emily was okay . . . the baby was okay. Apparently God hadn't given up on him quite yet.

Miracles never ceased.

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_A/N 2: There you go. Not much in the way of fluff (it would have been another thousand words to cover them being 'reunited') but you got an update on everybody's condition, and where things are going from here. Again, workhorse. From here we'll be able to pick up a bit more easily to move the whole world forward, not just this one incident._

_And if anybody is looking for some fluffy bonding, I also updated the Arrangement. Actually if you follow Second Chances by itself because you liked the sexual element, you will most likely also enjoy this other story, again, The Arrangement. Lots of sex to start off that one, too :)_


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